Jewel Amongst Stones
by Eschient
Summary: AU, Slash LV/HP– Voldemort attained immortality through his bloodline of Slytherin. Entering the Ministry of Magic, he rose through the ranks quickly. In 1978, he hears of a prophecy and leaves his job, successfully entering Hogwarts… becoming their DADA Professor. HIATUS.
1. The New Beginning

**Jewel Amongst Stones**

**{Disclaimer}** I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling.

**{Warnings}** This is an AU fic, which means that the entire universe _can _be different whereby the grasses are pink, skies are yellow and the seas are orange. However, even if this fiction will not go to the extremes, the geography/history/timeline of the world may change.

**{Summary**} AU, Slash LVHP– Voldemort never created Horcruxes, having attained immortality through his Slytherin bloodline. Entering the Ministry of Magic, he rose quickly through the ranks to be the Deputy Minister. In 1978, he hears of a prophecy, and leaves his job, successfully entering Hogwarts… becoming their DADA Professor.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The night was cold.

The wind was harsh upon trees, causing the strong branches to be flung around. The leaves on the ground rippled as they tore through the land.

A long distance away, two men stood, seemingly unaffected by the weather. They were both well dressed, and a regal air especially surrounded the taller man. Yet even when they were dressed simply in robes, neither seemed affected by the chilly night.

There was a long, unbroken silence until the shorter man, with a halo of blond hair, spoke.

"My Lord?" Abraxas Malfoy asked softly, cautiously, his eyes falling upon the sharp, aristocratic face of the taller man.

Voldemort raised a pale hand slowly. His eyes were crimson, and the usually cold glare softened slightly as he gazed reminiscently at the faraway castle, deep in thought. It had been years since he had returned to Hogwarts, the only home he had ever known.

Headmaster Dippet had been wrong about him, he thought. He had returned for the position he coveted only so many years later, after immersing himself in the works of Slytherin.

It had been a long and arduous journey, but it was worth every bit of time he had put in. Shortly before he turned thirty, he had attained immortality. It was Slytherin's immortality, gifted only to his one true heir. And yet, it was Hogwarts that had lit the candle, that had spurred him in his search of immortality by giving him his first clue yet.

The basilisk, he remembered with a pang of nostalgia. During his younger days at Hogwarts, he had searched desperately for the Chamber of Secrets, like countless others before him. But while they were bound to fail, he was different, gifted by his birth right as the heir Slytherin had recognized.

It had not taken him long to find it, in comparison with the time he took to search for his weak-minded parents, but it had changed his life.

Wizards and witches often said that basilisks lived to a long age, but were not immortal like the vampires were.

They were wrong, Voldemort mused amusingly, his eyes unseeing. Basilisks, which were a distant cousin of the phoenix, were reborn every nine hundred years or so. Their physical appearances were changed slightly with every reborn unlike the phoenixes; whether from the shade of their killer eyes or the patterns of their scales, so their immortality secret was never discovered.

Until the first parselmouth, Salazar Slytherin appeared.

Slytherin had been as obsessed about immortality as his heir was, and he had discovered it from the Serpent King himself. Throwing himself into late nights of research surrounding the basilisk's second _and _immensely rare _and _unknown venom, he even built a chamber within his school to house his experiments.

But Slytherin had died, even when he had achieved the key to immortality. Love, Voldemort recalled tragically, thinking about the diary preserved within the chamber at Hogwarts. He had flipped through the dusty old pages years ago, eager to know more about his famed ancestor. But he had been disappointed with his findings. Slytherin had chosen death, in face of his lover's demise. He was brilliant, Voldemort admitted as much, but love was a mistake that Voldemort would never commit himself to. He would not go down the path that Slytherin took.

"My Lord, we should leave. Our appointment with Dumbledore starts soon," Abraxas began.

Cold crimson eyes turned to face the blond, who immediately cowered back under the fierce glare.

"You forget your purpose here, Abraxas. If I had wanted you to hold my hand as I face Dumbledore, I would have told you so," Voldemort sneered.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I merely wanted to-" Abraxas began quickly but was held down by Voldemort almost at once. He immediately shuffled behind Voldemort, knowing the clear line of his boundaries.

The Dark Lord gave one last sweeping glance before he turned and left.

* * *

><p>The tension in the air was stiff.<p>

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said lightly, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the pair. "Take a seat."

Albus Dumbledore peered behind his moon glasses as his blue eyes surveyed the figure before him. His normally twinkling blue eyes had lost his glow as he faced his former pupil. It had been his mistake, he lamented. He had let Tom Riddle become the man he was now. Although outwardly, there was no change in the handsome Tom Riddle, he saw the subtle changes surrounding the man.

He had carried himself differently now. The young Riddle had been proud and quite justly so, but the thirty-year old Riddle had an arrogance that was surrounded with sheer dark power. It flickered around him calmly now, but it was there nonetheless. Normal witches and wizards could not feel the the affinity of auras even if they could sense them, but he could see the darkness… His eyes were also burned a deep crimson, a slightly startling change from the old brown. It was one of the rare signs that he had been immersing in the Dark Arts, but it only seemed to add to his charm. And the confidence within the man… he now held himself as a Lord, as Dumbledore knew he was now.

Even young, he had been astounded by the brilliance and charm that Tom Riddle had shown, and was even more disturbed by the cruelty that lay in the man's warped mind. He could have done great things, perhaps even become the Minister of Magic, had he not been so absorbed in the Darkest of Arts.

He waved a hand to motion Tom.

"Thank you," Tom said, moving to the chair before the him. "I hear you have been made the headmaster," he began slowly, as he unclasped the cloak around him. It pulled around his chair, casting a faint shadow around him. "A worthy choice, I believe. Hogwarts seems to be flourishing better than my years at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled lightly, looking at Tom straight in the eye. "You flatter me," he said. "So Tom… to what do I owe this pleasure? You have come a long way; the last I heard, you were travelling the world."

A light smile curled upon the edges of Tom's lips. "I have," he bowed his head slightly. "But I find myself weary of such travels and alas, the time has come for me to settle down. I feel inclined to coming back to Hogwarts, teaching the students where I myself was taught once."

"I remember your attraction to teaching too, but I wonder why do you not take up a post at the Ministry of Magic? You could do great things there," Dumbledore said, still smiling.

Tom did not answer at once, his eyes travelling to the window which showed the grounds of Hogwarts. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, eyes back on Dumbledore's relaxed form. "I find myself more inclined towards teaching as opposed to the workings of the Ministry. A similar trait I see within you, I see, for you have rejected the post of the Minister himself a time too many."

"A similar trait," Dumbledore agreed quietly. "I never quite saw myself as the Minister and the Ministry has never attracted me as a career."

Tom surveyed Dumbledore carefully with his guarded eyes. After a long silence, he spoke, "I have returned," he began. "Much later than Headmaster Dippet had expected of me. But I was, and still am interested in the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Dumbledore's smile wavered slightly, his eyes clouding. "Your real purpose, Tom," he said, surprising Tom slightly at his bluntness. It appeared that Dumbledore was growing old and frustrated with their word games. "We both know that you are here not for a position you never wanted."

Tom's eyes narrowed slowly, and his voice was cold. "On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want that position very much."

"What could it be in teaching that would be of your desires, Tom? You never were the teaching type, to coach the young minds into greatness. Your desires lay elsewhere. News of your travels has reached me, Tom, about a brilliant young Lord, intent on discovering the secrets of Slytherin. While it is not unusual, it is curious to many your intent for searching on the secrets of the founders…"

"Greatness spawns envy, and envy spawns lies," Tom replied curtly, irritated. "Nevertheless, my ancestor is Slytherin after all, as you had always known… Surely, it wouldn't be surprising for me to know more about my ancestor?"

Dumbledore's eyes were sad. "It wouldn't," he conceded. "After remembering the time and effort you took in searching for your parents, I wouldn't be surprised."

"I do not wish to delve into the topic of my parents. That was a past, and it will remain as such," he said coldly, refusing to allow Dumbledore to dictate the direction and rules of their conversation. "Now, as for the position of the professor, I am very interested in it. Professor Merrythought has held on far longer than I imagined, but you do need a new professor do you not? I could teach your children of Hogwarts great things, Dumbledore. There is no better candidate than myself."

"You are right," Dumbledore admitted. There was a long pause. "But I'm afraid, I cannot allow you the position, Tom."

Sharps eyes pierced right through Dumbledore. The hand resting on the chair tightened, the white knuckles flashing through the darkness of the barely lit room for a moment before it relaxed. "I am the best candidate for the position, Dumbledore. I can teach the children great things," he repeated, eyes fixed on Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Great, but terrible." The twinkling blue eyes were sad as he regarded his former student.

His expression did not waver as his eyes fixed upon Dumbledore. He seemed to struggle for the correct words as he paused, savoring the bitter taste of rejection. "You do not trust me," he said slowly. "I never expected you to… after all, you had never done so even in my childhood years."

The gaze in Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly, but he ignored his previous statement nonetheless. "Which brings me to my question, Tom. Why have you returned so many years after your travels, for a position you know I would not allow?"

The Dark Lord too disregarded the question completely. "Is that your final answer, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore did not respond while Tom pulled out a piece of paper from within his robes. He stiffly pushed it across the desk to the Headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly but he accepted the paper and glanced through the contents.

"This is what you give me?" Dumbledore said in slight disbelief. "The signatures of the governors?"

The paper flitted to the desk. Upon it were the twelve signatures of the governors, with Abraxas Malfoy's signature right at the top, scrawled neatly.

The corners of Tom's lips lifted slightly. "I'm afraid that the governors do have a say in the matters of Hogwarts."

"Not regarding the professors," Dumbledore said sharply. "The governors control only the management affairs of the school – its location, security, classes and Ministry rights. The employment of a teacher still lies within the right of the Headmaster."

Tom lost his smile slightly, his crimson eyes darkening. "The Headmaster can be replaced."

Dumbledore's smile was benign. "Not quite soon, I assume," he said merrily. "I hope I do have a good many years more at Hogwarts…"

The Dark Lord stood; the aura emanating from him was darkening in his silent fury. "You will find no better candidate than I am, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps, if things were different Tom, it would have been you in this office. But this is my final answer, Tom. I cannot allow you a position that would directly influence the minds of the young witches and wizards."

Tom's hand tightened around his wand beneath his cloak momentarily. He gave one last, long stare at Dumbledore's infuriatingly blue eyes before he nodded sharply, and turned towards the door.

With his hand upon the door knob, Tom paused for a moment. "You do realize I will be back for the position, no?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned the door and stepped out, stalking down the hallways where Abraxas was waiting for him.

"My Lord?" Abraxas scurried over upon seeing him emerge from Dumbledore's office. "How did it go?" he asked quickly.

A cruel smile flickered across the Dark Lord's face, now that his cover as Tom Riddle was no longer needed. "As expected, he did not allow me the position," he sneered, walking off at a fast pace. Abraxas followed behind him.

"But my Lord… what will you do now that he does not allow you the position? The governors have no say in this matter –"

"I'm well aware of what the governors control at Hogwarts," the Dark Lord interrupted darkly. "Which is why I'm afraid I require a position at the Ministry now."

"The Ministry, my Lord?" Abraxas voice was surprised as Voldemort turned the corner. He hurried to catch up, his robes trailing behind him. "In which department are you interested in? I would recommend the -"

"The Ministry is merely a stepping stone, Abraxas," Voldemort chided lightly. "There is no need for you to be so uptight over it. Meanwhile, your mission is to gather followers and do nothing more."

Abraxas understood immediately. "So my Lord, you mean to say that the position in the Ministry-"

"Is only temporary," the Dark Lord finished."I will rise to the top of the Ministry within fifteen years and no more. Find me a position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcements set up an appointment for me."

Abraxas's eyes went wide as he understood Voldemort's intentions. He bowed his head in submission, a small smirk gracing his flawless lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_TIMESKIP – 9 years later_

Whisperings; Uneasy whisperings were what greeted Tom Riddle as he made his way towards the Ministry, in the bright morning. A glance left and right explained much. Ministry witches and wizards were crowded over a shared copy of the Prophet, furiously discussing the latest news on the Dark Lord. It appeared that there had been a raid in one of the magical villages when they were peacefully asleep.

The Dark Lord, Tom thought as he smirked. Just thinking about it made his day seem so much better in comparison.

It had been a long time since he had started out his arduous career at the Ministry of Magic nine years ago, but his efforts had paid off. He was now the Deputy Minister of Magic, and he was poised to be the next Minister once Cornelius Fudge stepped down. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame; some were attracted by his charms, some by his looks, and some by the sheer power he held. Abraxas's connections within the Ministry had ensured him a smooth career, but his peers at Hogwarts had remembered the brilliance of Tom Riddle and had eagerly welcomed him back… _as if_ he needed their welcome.

But he was much more than a Deputy Minister. He was _the_ Dark Lord Voldemort. Granted, he was also the influential politician Tom Riddle, but he would be the politician for one lifetime, and a Dark Lord for all eternity. Immortality had its perks, he mused as he made his way to the lift leading to his office on the floor above. He had patience because he could afford the time to wait. Even now, he could sit back and wait for Dumbledore to die of old age, but he _very_ much preferred the game.

He was so much _more _than using senseless killing in order to take over the Ministry. He would not confront the enemy outright. He would scheme like a Slytherin; get right under the enemies' folds before he attacked. Thinking about him made him excited for the action, but he would wait as the plan unraveled into motion.

As he turned around the corner, a hand grabbed onto him and he took a step back immediately, narrowing his eyes at the person who dared intrude his private space.

"Deputy Minister Riddle!" the man said excitedly.

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes and the sheer impudence of his subordinate as he brushed his robes inconspicuously. He arched a brow and motioned for the man to speak while he continued on his way to the lift.

"Did you hear?" Riley buzzed quickly as he trailed after him ungracefully, the parchments of paper scattering all around his full hands. "The Dark Lord has attacked again and the Aurors are severely wounded. The Ministry is in an uproar over it. It's the fourth time they have attacked in this month alone, and the morale of the Auror department _and_ the Ministry is dampening with each attack."

"I am well aware of the on goings with the situation, Riley," Riddle snapped. "Nevertheless, the Aurors would have to improve on their strategies or it would not be the Dark Lord breathing upon their necks, but myself. Submit a new report about the mistakes made in the battle and the new battle strategies to me first thing by tomorrow morning."

Aurors, Tom scowled. Over-rated witches and wizards who could duel that always seemed to ruin his day. Being the Deputy Minister meant a lot of paperwork he had to sort out, and it was the Aurors that loved to contribute to his burden.

But of course, if not for his other half, there would be peace within the Ministry and he would probably have less paperwork. Karma, he thought, scowling inwardly.

"Yes sir," Riley said, his mood dampening slightly but he quickly brightened again. "But sir, did you hear about the Dark Lord's forces? The number of them attending the raid last night doubled from the previous. The Aurors could barely hold up and at least three-quarters were injured and the death toll reached a peak last night. Oh and before I forget, Minister Fudge requires for you to pay a visit to the Auror Department personally. He said something about …"

"Skip to the specifics," he interrupted, cutting across Riley's babblings. He _was _going to murder Abraxas for assigning him Riley as his personal assistant. The man never knew when to keep his mouth quiet, but that also meant that he knew more about the workings and relations between the Ministry.

But _still._

"Yes sir," Riley said again, stumbling over his over long robes, causing the stack of paper in his hand to fly out. With an irritated wave of his wand, Tom had ensured the papers were returned neatly into a stack. "Thanks, sir," Riley chirped brightly in awe. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Riley continued, "As I was saying, Fudge requires for you to visit the Auror Department. He wants you to coach the Aurors personally, sir."

Tom's eyes widened in blatant amusement. "He wants me to coach the Aurors?" he said, in slight disbelief. My, my, how far the Ministry had fallen, he thought to himself in triumph. Cornelius Fudge was one of the main reasons, he knew. He had the tendency to lead the Ministry from one hare-brained scheme to another, usually resulting in disastrous consequences.

"Yes sir. I told him in full confidence that you would do a _very_ good job of coaching the Aurors. After the previous annual Dueling Contest, there is not a person in the Ministry who wouldn't agree with me sir." Riley was sporting a large grin and the Dark Lord fought the urge to curse it off his face.

"Too right you are," Tom muttered in irritation, as he remembered the wide-eyed awe he had received after triumphing the contest. The Aurors had been winning the cup almost every year, so it was a surprise that someone else from another department had triumphed over them. It was their specialty after all.

"Morning, Riddle," a voice said from behind him. Tom turned to see a familiar face standing near him for the queue of the lift.

"Amelia," he greeted. Amelia Bones had been his superior back when he worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he hadn't stayed for long before he was promoted. Though, he had come to respect her in her own right during his short stay at that department.

She was a _very_ Light witch, but very capable as well. It was a shame that he would most likely be the one ending her life in the future, but he couldn't allow such talents to live so as to oppose his regime. That was the nature of war.

"Being the Deputy Minister suits you," Amelia said cordially, offering a brief smile. Riley finally skidded to a stop behind them and he irritatedly waved him behind them. "Cornelius is not giving you too much trouble, I presume?"

He took his time to answer her as the lift doors clanged open. They both stepped in, followed by Riley behind them and as the doors slowly clattered close, the lift rose.

"As well as it could be," he replied. "Nothing too much, but he hasn't been letting me free easily."

"That's how Cornelius could be, but…" her voice hesitated slightly as she fixed her stare on the door, contemplating. No, Amelia wasn't one to gossip, but it seemed like her natural curiosity had won out eventually, the Dark Lord noted in slight amusement. "The Department has started speculating that you would be taking over his position."

He arched a brow mockingly now, but hid it under pretense modesty. "Really now, Amelia? I'm sure the Minister has a good many years to go… but I'm flattered, in any case."

"I… right," she said, stuttering a little under the intense gaze he had fixed upon her. Now he was getting even more amused, having gotten under Amelia Bones, the stern witch who never took a word of nonsense.

The lift door open shrilly and he stepped out of it, nodding to Amelia as he went and motioning Riley to follow him. The pair of them made their way through the second floor of the Ministry, bypassing several of their colleagues who he nodded to before they reached his office.

Glancing at the new stacks of documents on his desk, Tom nearly sighed right there and then. He was supposed to be a Dark Lord, out there staging more raids day after day and being involved in senseless killing for his cause, but here he was, stuck in the Ministry with a fool of a Minister and an assistant with hyperactivity.

Damned Dumbledore for rejecting him a position at Hogwarts, he thought angrily. But he would be back.

He just didn't know that it would have been that soon.

* * *

><p>A large pudgy hand made its home on his shoulders. Tom gritted his teeth angrily, fighting off his frustration as he maintained a wan smile at Fudge who was happily jabbering away. Resisting to the urge to curse Cornelius into a pile of goo right there and then, he forced himself to remain calm.<p>

The remains of a peaceful day had instantly flown out of the window the moment Tom spied Cornelius huffing down the corridor leading to his office. Instantly, he mentally prepared himself for an hour or two of nonsense that the Minister could come up with.

"So Tom, as I was saying, do you think that red and purple are great colours for the Christmas Ball theme? I would go for red and green, but you know how the colours clash… Slytherin and Gryffindor, can you imagine?" he chortled loudly.

"Yes, Cornelius," he said shortly, wishing for it to be over quickly. He took a step back inconspicuously and managed to shake Fudge's fingers off his robe and muttered a silent cleaning spell.

Fudge cleared his throat loudly and twirled his bowler hat – now a bright, sunshine yellow – in his hands nervously. Tom narrowed his eyes mockingly at the change in the Minister's behavior, pleased and sure that the Minister was finally, after two hours of rambling, going to divulge his real reason for seeking him out. And he had a perfectly good idea what made the Minister so uptight.

"So uh- Tom, a good lad, especially in dueling, I see!" Fudge said, making an attempt at one of his raucous laughter.

He nodded stiffly, inclining for the Minister to continue speaking.

"And … do you wish for a change in position? I mean to say, the Auror Department will suit you very well, and of course Britain and the wizarding world. With you in the department itself – what with your spectacular dueling skills last year…" Fudge rambled on, going round and round and Tom regarded him in bored suspicions.

"To the point, Cornelius," he offered a smile, as he pointed at the clock in the wall, signaling that he had to leave soon.

"Oh- right. That is to say, Tom, would you like a change to the Auror Department? I would gladly assign you as the Head of Aurors if you so wish to," Fudge said, looking eager as he twisted his hands together.

And Tom was right. The Minister, despite having the thick skull he had, was not blind to the on goings of the Ministry either. He had seen the way Tom rose, department after department to become the Deputy Minister in a short span of nine years. He knew that Tom was well on the way to becoming the next Minister of Magic, essentially taking away his position from right under his nose and needed to bump him down a level. What was a better way than to play to his strengths, and hide everything under the cover of the greater good for the wizarding world?

Fortunately for Tom, he wasn't an idiot like Fudge was. He knew how Fudge felt, and had seen the whispers and awes of admiration trailing after him where ever he go, as well as the hushed whispers about his possible candidacy in the upcoming Ministerial elections. If he had been loyal to the Britain Ministry of Magic, he could have played blind with Fudge's motives and gone along to the Auror Department, but he had no reason to fight with himself. His frequent disappearance in raids – or Voldemort's – would be questionable.

And he had all the information he needed on the Auror Department from Rufus Scrimgeour himself. Not to say that Rufus was as dim as Fudge, but Tom could be charismatic when he wanted to be. The added bonus of providing brilliant schemes did wonders too.

So Fudge, regardless of how much tact he put into phrasing his words, certainly wasn't going to get rid of Tom. But Fudge had miscalculated. Tom didn't want to be the Minister of Magic. He wanted to _be _the Minister of Magic to serve as his gateway to the Hogwarts – there was no other way.

Dumbledore, for the love of Merlin, could no way not appoint the Minster of Magic as one of the Hogwarts Professors. It would not settle well with the public, and in times of war, it was _all_ about public support, especially with the precarious and less-than perfect name of the Order of the Phoenix currently.

"What about Rufus, Cornelius?" Tom said carefully, watching for Fudge's reaction. A surprise expression flew through Fudge's pudgy facial features quickly before he smoothed his expression into a jolly, carefree one.

He slammed his hand onto Tom's shoulder once more. "No reason to fret Tom. I'm sure Rufus would be _glad_ to learn from his betters, especially in times of war. Now now," Fudge's voice took on a disapproving tone and he shook his head left and right. "That is no way to argue when we are in times of war. The greater good of the wizarding world Britain is the main priority, isn't it?"

"Yes, Cornelius. But I'm afraid that I have to decline your offer. You see…" Tom trailed off, shifting into complex sentences with full of twists and turns, effectively losing Fudge midway and leaving him gaping at him, not understanding the long speech he was churning out. He flashed another perfect smile at Fudge and grabbed his files at the table.

"It's time for me to go now, Cornelius," he said, making another pretense at checking the clock. "I have another meeting with the Department of Mysteries… perhaps we could continue talking about this another day." _As-bloody-if._

He noted Fudge's crestfallen face, and would have snickered to himself if he wasn't so irritated already. Hurrying out of the door, he made his way to the Department of Mysteries. He didn't exactly have an appointment per say, but he did have something important that he needed to know.

There had been rumors flying left and right in the Ministry for the past week, revolving around the Department of Mysteries. It made him unsettled, for he was sure that this matter had great relation to the Dark Lord. Was the Department of Mysteries creating new weapons for the war? It was not a common occurrence, but the Ministry of Magic in other European countries had done so during the First War with Grindlewald.

And if it were worse… Tom needed to get to the bottom of it quickly, he thought determinedly as he stepped into the lift which led him down to the stone-cold floors of the Department of Mysteries. Although his contact assured him that there was nothing out of the ordinary, he had been persistent, and eventually, it was let slip that _something_ was going on in the Hall of Prophecies.

And he had a hunch that a bloody prophecy had just been prophecized. To what, exactly, was the question. Would it be to his advantage of against it? And he couldn't just strut in to the Hall of Prophecies without raising alarm. Only the people mentioned in the Prophecy _could_ retrieve it, and he could not, not without his cover of Tom Riddle being blown.

He made his way quickly towards the Department of Mysteries, having worked here briefly during his illustratious career in the Ministry. He wanted to know the Ministry from inside out, and what better way was there than strutting in and working within all the important departments himself?

"Morning, Deputy Minister Riddle," one of the Unspeakables greeted him reverently as he stepped into the main hall of the Department of Mysteries.

"Morning…" he cleared his throat slightly, and glanced down at the man's robes where his name tag was pinned. "Stanley. I require a word with Martha Rookwood. Is she around?"

Thankfully, it wasn't suspicious for the Deputy Minister to enter the various Ministry departments. Stanley went to fetch Rookwood for him while he waited in her small office at the far end of the room.

The room, although small was filled with several inventions on shelves, the table and even some bulkier ones were placed onto the floor, cluttering the place. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and sat down on one of the chairs, waiting patiently for his faithful Death Eater to arrive.

Moments later, the door pushed open to reveal Martha Rookwood, who immediately bowed and greeted him, her cheeks coloring slightly. Tom ignored her wide-eyed admiration and surprise to cast an advanced warding spell around the room for privacy and to deter eavesdroppers.

"Martha," he greeted, turning back to the blushing witch. "I required a word with you… I'm afraid that the recent disturbance in the Ministry has unsettled me."

Martha frowned slightly, her gaze not upon him, but on one of the moving paintings on the wall as she shifted uneasily. "Yes, my Lord," she said, reverting back to the customary greeting. Her eyes met his, but they quickly darted away as she flushed red. "I have checked since your request, and there is indeed a new prophecy regarding the Dark Lord in the Hall of Prophecies."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrow delicately and motioned for her to sit. "And in which shelf would that be?"

She told him and he carefully mulled over her words.

"And how did the Department received intelligence of the prophecy? Surely some form of method must have enabled them to encase the contents into the orb."

Martha was taken aback by the question. She pursed her lips slightly as she thought hard. At last, she replied cautiously, "I… There is a pensive, no, a bowl or some sort that resembles the pensive. I believe that the orbs are created there, as are the prophecies."

"Explain."

"I heard that… there is some form of a charm, or a spell that allows the Department seventeen hours before hand to know when a new prophecy within a certain range – that is to say, Britain, most probably – is created. There have been rumours that the Unspeakables capture these Seers to record the prophecies, before oblivating them. But none of which has been verified, so it's only speculation," she admitted.

He sat up straighter, interested now. "There is a high possibility that Dumbledore does not know of the prophecy?"

"There is a high possibility," she echoed, looking highly pleased at his undivided attention. "None of the spells have failed thus far. But it would be wise to assume that Dumbledore must have some sort of idea on the on goings."

Which translated that Dumbledore was after the prophecy too. But he had the advantage here, for he was one of the masters of the prophecy. And he needed to know how to retrieve it, lest the prophecy played a role too important in the war.

"Have you been able to retrieve the prophecy?" he asked, knowing full well what her answer was.

She shook her head petulantly, her head down, not wanting to see his disappointed expression. "No, my Lord. Prophecies require for their masters to retrieve them. The orb will cast any other who touches it into oblivion, except for its maker within the Hall of Prophecies. There is a spell that will enable you to touch it, but," she cleared her throat, looking slightly nervous as she continued, "I have not been able to find it. It is one of the top secrets within the Department, and only the higher levels working in the Hall of Prophecies have access to it. Even so, their lips are sealed with the Unbreakable vow."

"I see," he said quietly, carefully considering. "Tell me, Martha. Are there any charms or wards placed around the shelves of the prophecies? Any alarms of such?"

Martha considered his question thoughtfully, her brow furrowing. At a long last, she shook her head. "I don't think so," she admitted, leaning forward slightly, her arm almost touching his. "The prophecies are supposed to be untouchable so there is no form of defense required."

A small smirk graced his lips. Logic was something wizards took for granted, having been so accustomed to magic. They did everything with their magic, relied so heavily upon them that their common sense had long flown out of the window. Even the Department of Mysteries, which supposedly held the brains of the Ministry, was testimonial of that fact.

"Excellent," Tom smirked, his eyes darkening in anticipation. "Now, Martha," he purred silkily now, his charms coming out at full force. "I require a favor…"

"Anything for you, my Lord," she replied in anticipation, her eyes wide and shining in her eagerness.

Her last thought was that she would do everything in her power to get the approval of the Dark Lord.

Then she fell into a haze.

* * *

><p><em>TIME SKIP – 2 years later<em>

A loud cry echoed through the silence in one of the luxurious rooms at St Mungos, effectively sealing the fate of the summer-born baby. There was a sound of hurried rustling as the Healers moved within the room, taking care of the newborn while the mother craned her neck for a better glance.

Minutes later, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the room, exhilarated. There was a satisfied look on his face and in his arms was a bundle of joy, the baby he would later name Draco.

"My Lord… I present to you my newborn, Draconis," he said reverently, holding up the newborn for his Lord's inspection. The Dark Lord looked pleased as he took a long glance at the sleeping baby, and Lucius exhaled in slight relief.

There were two things that the Dark Lord favored: power and blood. A combination of them made you important within the Dark Lord's ranks, but his son was something different. The Dark Lord was interested in him since the news of Narcissa's pregnancy circulated amongst the wizarding society and Lucius had been curious, very curious.

In the last breaths of his father Abraxas, he had disclosed that there had been a prophecy surrounding the Lord. High up in his position Abraxas was, he only knew a selected few details that the Dark Lord felt comfortable with sharing.

And Lucius thought he knew the reason to his Lord's fascination with his son. The prophecy, Abraxas had breathed, had spoken of a baby born in summer, which was the exact season that his son had been due to be born in. But his baby, _his_ Draco had been the one their Lord chosen because of his blood. The prophecy meant of a child with a dark wizarding bloodline… and the Malfoys were known to be notoriously so.

He might not know what the Dark Lord intended for the child, but Draco was someone important already. With his son, the Malfoys would hold high power within the ranks of the Death Eaters… higher than his damned sister-in-law Bellatrix.

"You have done well," the Dark Lord said as he trailed a finger down Draco's cheeks. There was something unreadable in the Lord's eyes… a perplexed expression that bordered on disappointment. But Lucius quickly brushed away that thought. There was no reason why the Lord would be displeased with his child… was there? It was everything that the Dark Lord had been hoping and looking for.

"Draco will serve you to the best of his abilities," Lucius vowed and the Dark Lord met his eyes.

"He will," Voldemort affirmed. "Raise your son well, Lucius… I do not want him to grow up spoilt for he needs to be trained well to survive within our ranks."

Even as he said those words, Voldemort could feel it, feel the power that shimmered around Lucius's son which meant that the newborn was destined to be someone powerful…but there was something wrong. There was something different that he couldn't put his fingers on. The prophecy had spoken of the summer-born baby with a dark heritage and only Lucius's child had fitted the bill. Yet the connection that the prophecy had hinted at was missing. He did not feel a draw towards the newborn like he had expected.

Or perhaps there was a mistake, and the Chosen One did not speak of Lucius's son, Voldemort mused. But it was impossible, for the other newborns in this season came from normal wizarding lines, or Light wizarding lines.

He wouldn't put all his hopes into that one child, he decided. It would be a foolish thing to do.

But if the Chosen One was indeed Lucius's child, then the war had was already won. A cruel smirk graced his lips as he contemplated slowly. Dumbledore never knew of the prophecy and Martha had been taken care of. Nobody knew of the prophecy, safe for a selected few. His motives with the child would be virtually unknown, until it was too late.

How things had changed over the past two years. His plans had been completely disrupted by the revelation of the prophecy.

This child… the child he was finding was the balance between the Dark and the Light, and _he –_ not Dumbledore or himself –would be the crux to the final victory. The child would be the one to tip the scale over.

He would control the Chosen One, Voldemort vowed. And he would control the war in turn.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **Guess who else is born in Summer 1980? 8D *grins*


	2. First Step

**{A/N}** Thanks for the response given! I hope I managed to reply all of your questions (except anons).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

_TIMESKIP – 11 years later_

"Harry James Potter! I swear I'm going to hex your hair pink if you don't come down this instant, young man!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he stood in front of the mirror in his room, inspecting himself carefully. While he did not consider himself vain – he was far from the pompous grooming purebloods liked to indulge themselves in – first impressions ran deep and it would be the first day of his journey to Hogwarts today.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair once more when he realized that there was no way his hair was going to tidy itself. It was another trait he had inherited from his father, he mused. While he had grown out of being his father's duplicate over the years and corrected his eyesight, his hair was one thing he couldn't seem to change.

Casting one last look at the mirror, Harry grabbed his cloak and levitated his luggage out of the room as he went down the steps to meet Sirius in the main hall. He could not help glaring at the offending portrait hanging on the walls as he went, tuning himself out to the insults they gave as he passed.

"There you are! I thought you had died up there from the time you were taking!" Sirius greeted him brightly as he appeared round the doorway. Despite Harry being the one to start his Hogwarts education today, it was Sirius who appeared utmost excited.

Harry ignored his godfather's comment and allowed him to steer him towards the front door of Grimmauld Place. His godfather had been some sort of an elder brother figure to him ever since his parents died many years back. The story was long and tragic, but Harry didn't want to dwell too much into it. He was young during his parent's demise, and all he could get from Sirius was that one of his father's close friends, Pettigrew, had murdered his parents out of a jealousy spat.

Or maybe jealousy _spat_ wasn't the correct word. Pettigrew had plotted the murder down to the very last detail, something that was apparently unusual of him ("He couldn't have the patience to turn a toad into a cup even if he wanted to" Sirius had exclaimed indignantly). But being close to his parents added an advantage to Pettigrew, and it was a matter of a courtesy call for him to reach his parents. Unfortunately for him, Sirius had arrived in time to see him fleeing and he had made it into the wanted list of the Ministry of Magic.

And the worse thing was that damned rat was nowhere to be found. Sirius knew he was an animagus as did Harry, but there were thousands of rats running around the sewers of Great Britain. Their only comfort was that Pettigrew would probably have to live the rest of his life either as a rat, or human in the muggle world since James and Lily were rather respected in the society and their murders had brought great indigence to the public. Many people recognized Pettigrew so he couldn't walk around scot free after the murders.

And in the aftermath, Harry had ended up under Sirius's guardian, which suited him fine since Sirius was unmarried with no children, so he wasn't intruding into his godfather's life. The only other close friend that Sirius had, Remus Lupin, had vanished shortly before the murder and even years later, he was still nowhere to be found. Sirius had mourned for his friend, and over the years he seemed to have accepted the fact that he was the last of the marauders, although the acceptance had stopped him from his frequent reminiscing.

Harry remembered that shortly after his parent's demise, they had moved into Grimmauld's Place, since Sirius didn't want to remain in the Potter manor where Lily and James had been murdered. Growing up, Harry was accustomed with the arrangement once he learned a handy trick from Sirius to hex the annoying portraits into silence. Especially Sirius's mother, Walburga, who wouldn't stop screeching everytime she saw him, even though it had been _years._

The other alternative he had was his horrid Aunt Petunia which Harry had the misfortune of meeting once, when he was _very_ young. It amazed him how he could distinctly remember the smell of grapes and a shocking pink from the vague blur that was of his childhood memories, but that was just the way things worked.

"I've always wanted to take the Knight Bus," Sirius beamed as they stood in front of the now invisible Number 12 Grimmauld Place. "It reminded me of the once I took it with Mother and Regulus, and the next day she filed for a petition to have the bus removed," he recalled fondly, staring into space. "Obviously it never got through," he grinned widely.

Harry rolled his eyes slightly and stuck out his arm. He had always wondered who was the adult between him and Sirius, since he was more mature than his godfather did. But then again, it was no secret that Sirius seemed to be stuck perpetually as a child in an adult's body.

There was a loud bang that startled both Harry and Sirius, but in the next second, the Knight Bus appeared, its violent purple a big contrast to the brick houses left and right.

"Good morning lads! My name is Nicholas Shunpike and I'll be your conductor for this morning," a bright-eyed freckly boy greeted from the door. He looked to be no older than twenty, Harry noticed as Nicholas eyed his luggage. "About to start school at Hogwarts, eh? Great school, marvelous. My only regret was not getting into the Ministry of Magic…" he shook his head and cleared his thoughts. "But whatever are you waiting for ? Come on in!"

Without waiting, Nicholas levitated Harry's trunk and eagerly outstretched a hand for Sirius to grab onto. They both clambered onto the bus – Sirius excitedly and almost stumbling over his robes, and Harry slightly warily.

They had barely made it to the seats when the Knight Bus shot off once more. Quickly grabbing onto the nearby pole, Harry maneuvered himself to the nearest seat within reach and was followed by a grinning Sirius. Looking at Sirius, Harry briefly wondered why he had allowed himself to be persuaded by his bipolar godfather into taking the Knight Bus. There were many alternatives to getting to Kings Cross Station, be it muggle transport, the Floo network or side-along apparation.

"I wish I could have taken my bike though, if it weren't in repairs," Sirius's mournful voice sounded from beside him as his godfather's excited mood dimmed.

_Right_, Harry remembered. The bike was the reason why he had been so convinced to taking the Knight Bus. Sirius's bike was far from being safe and his godfather had a tendency to go a tad too fast, especially when he didn't exactly know _all_ the functions of the various knobs of the bike.

The Knight Bus turned and swayed and Harry moved along with it even as he tried to remain upright for all his dignity's worth. Luckily for him, the other occupants in the bus didn't look to be doing well either, and Sirius was happily humming in tune as he swayed with the bus in between chatting with Nicholas Shunpike who was still reminiscing about his days at Hogwarts.

"I wish I could be back there though. Great place to be, even with the professors," Nicholas said for the eighth time that day. "And the detentions."

Sirius grinned widely and elbowed Harry hard in the ribs, who winced slightly. "Say, Nicholas, what professor should young Harry here be looking out for?" There was a bright mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Harry sat up straighter, interested now. He hadn't heard a great deal about the Hogwarts professors, since quite a few of them had changed since Sirius's time. He knew only the general facts of each teachers, but he didn't quite like the idea of Dumbledore, who was Hogwart's headmaster. The students seemed slightly overboard in their awe for the headmaster and he was slightly suspicious of the man's mannerisms. But that also meant he was wary of Tom Riddle, Hogwart's current favourite professor and a hit amongst students.

He was the most popular choice of topic and gossip amongst the Hogwarts graduates, all of whom seemed to speak highly of the man, to the point of reverential and slight worship to the dazed females. He had heard of Tom Riddle and his brief but illustratious career in the Ministry, but that was it. The man wasn't known to having a high profile, and only made a striking comment here and there that tended to leave a great impression in people's minds, but he was a favored topic and the best teacher of Hogwarts, if the rumors were to go by. His handsome looks did nothing but add to his charm too, Harry thought, remembering the pictures he had seen in the prophet.

He was soon brought back to the conversation with Sirius's chuckle at Nicholas's words. The two of them seemed to be having the time of their lives exchanging their stories of Hogwarts.

"And then I said to Hagrid that I wasn't plucking the wings of the pixie but he wouldn't have it. Chased me out of his grounds after that," Nicholas was nearly in tears of laughter now as he rolled over and over, clutching his stomach. "But my, am I glad he didn't report me to Professor Riddle. The man's a right charmer and a brilliant wizard, but I don't fancy having to be stuck in detention."

"What about Professor Riddle?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Well," Nicholas said animatedly, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his favorite teacher. "The man's brilliant, and they say he's as powerful as Dumbledore. After seeing his spellwork, you wouldn't imagine. Students fall left and right trying to get him to notice them… and he has a fan club or something," he grumbled, huffing as he folded his arms. Harry guessed that he wasn't looked highly upon by Riddle.

He frowned, but he wasn't too surprised by what Nicholas had said. Tom Riddle had to be a decent seducer in order to climb up the ranks of the Ministry so fast and seemingly without offending _that _much people. And he had to have extraordinary patience too, to deal with annoying people latching onto him.

Harry wondered what it would be like to meet the man he often saw in the newspapers, but he knew one thing for sure: He wasn't going to fall on his feet like those stumbling idiots by trying to gain favor with his professor. That, unless his professor proved himself and commanded his respect.

Sirius continued talking to Nicholas while Harry stared at the places that the Knight Bus was zooming past, in silence as he thought about Hogwarts.

Seven long and grueling minutes later, they arrived at Kings Cross Station and a quick tempus charm indicated that he had twenty minutes to spare before the train left. Harry hopped out of the train, Sirius following behind him with the luggage now hand-carried as he waved goodbye to Nicholas.

There was a puff and the Knight Bus was gone, leaving Harry and Sirius at the entrance of the station. For the next couple of minutes, the both of them maneuvered through the thick crowd of muggles at the station. It had been long since Sirius had come to Kings Cross Station, and his mother had not really favored muggle transport so he never had the chance to come by the main entrance. They stopped and asked around for platform 9 – "Platform 9 and ¾ is invisible to muggles. They would think you're a nutter if you tried asking them," Sirius joked – and they made it with another ten minutes to spare.

"After you," Sirius said, with a wide grin, having located the platform. He made to give Harry a little shove and Harry immediately stepped out of the way and walked calmly into the barrier between the magical and muggle world.

He emerged to the glory of the Hogwarts Express that he had only managed to see in books. The real thing was magnificent and seemed to command an air of authority itself. Harry glanced around and saw that most students were already there and they were milling around the train, exchanging tearful goodbyes with their parents.

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable watching them. He was never really comfortable with any shows of affection because of his parents' demise, and he even tried to wiggle out of the occasional bear hugs that Sirius gave when the man was excited.

He stood by the side, his attention on the train instead of the groups of families nearby. Seconds later, Sirius emerged from the platform, hair all tousled and messy, indicating that he had ran through the barrier. The man immediately broke into yet another bright grin when he spotted Harry and went over to him at once.

"So Harry… got any tricks up your sleeves already?" Sirius asked, beaming at him.

Harry immediately recalled Sirius's fond memories of the Maruders Era at Hogwarts and their pranking spree. He wasn't too sure if he would be spending his time at Hogwarts coming up with pranks; no, in fact, he was dead set on entering the Restricted Section of the library and pursing the endless books in there.

He had a passion for reading, but unfortunately, most of the advanced books in the Black Manor were forbidden by Sirius as he felt that they were too advanced for him, in order words, that they were too dark to practice.

"Not really. I'll see how it goes," Harry said noncommittally, wheeling his luggage towards the entrance of the train.

Sirius made to follow him but then a friend caught his eye. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to follow his godson or to catch up with his friend, but Harry quickly pushed him away with a small smile.

Watching his godfather go, Harry smiled lightly. He was never a particularly clingy person and he considered himself independent by many means. In fact, Sirius was the only person he allowed to coddle him since he wasn't particularly comfortable socializing with stuck up purebloods, or anyone for that matter.

He wandered around the trains, his truck levitated behind him as he searched for a compartment at the far ends of the trains. Based on Sirius's accounts, the ends of the trains were usually deserted for most people preferred to be seated in compartments close to their friends. Harry wondered why he seemed like one of the few people who enjoyed the peace and silence of being alone, but he attributed it to his personality.

Sliding open the compartment door, Harry let himself into the compartment right at the end of the train. Pleased with himself for securing the temporary silence, he glanced over the windows to see the groups of family gathering slowly breaking apart as it was time to board the train. He observed the farewells exchanged with a passive, indifferent expression as he felt quite detached to the whole thing. Even though it was his first day at Hogwarts, he did not feel excited as the rest of the children were – he felt dry, only eager to learn as much as he possibly could during his stay at Hogwarts.

He was going there with a mission, not to gamble away seven years of his life. At his young age, he understood the importance of knowledge. Since blood could not be helped, knowledge and power were the alternatives to success. He didn't care much about his status as a halfblood and as the Potter name commanded enough respect in Wizarding Britain to ensure him a smooth life, he didn't put much thought into something uncontrollable.

A few minutes later, the train began picking up speed and Harry stared wistfully at the platform. The next time he returned, months would have passed and he would have learned much at Hogwarts. He would also know which Hogwarts house he would be sorted into, and he was banking on Gryffindor because of the Potter blood that ran through his veins. He was partial to the other houses as well, but given his knowledge-driven nature, he thought he might end up in Ravenclaw too.

As he was far away in his thoughts, it was with a start that he jolted when the compartment door slid open. He shrugged, anticipating that one or two stragglers may end up at the back ends of the train. His eyes hovered upwards to meet a familiar figure.

The platinum blond hair would have been a dead giveaway if Harry didn't already recognize the boy. Purebloods were interconnected in several ways, and Harry had seen Draco Malfoy a few times during one of the rare social gatherings Sirius attended.

"May we sit?" Draco asked coolly, gesturing to himself and his three other friends behind him. It was more of a polite way of informing than a question.

Harry hesitated and nodded curtly. Well, it wouldn't do him good to offend Malfoy right early before the school year started. He was looking for knowledge, not trouble and everyone knew Malfoys could be a bother if they held a grudge against you.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco said, extending his hand for a handshake once he was properly seated. His grey eyes surveyed him carefully and Harry did the same. "But you already know that, of course. Allow me to introduce my friends… Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass."

"Pleasure," Harry said curtly and took the offered hand for a brief moment. His eyes moved to find three other curious eyes staring back at him, and he took his time to introduce himself. "Harry Potter," he said, and familiarity flickered upon Zabini and Greengrass's eyes. No doubt they would be remembering the _story_ of the demise of his parents… those questions he didn't want to answer. He shuddered slightly.

"I've heard about you," Draco said, after a moment's worth of silence. "And seen you too, the most recent being the Malfoy Christmas ball two years back."

A wry smile flittered across Harry's amused face. "And I'm rather touched that you remembered me out of the countless guests you must receive every year." He could not help the cynical, bored tone that accompanied him – those traits were bred too deeply in him for him to appear sincere.

A look of annoyance crossed Draco's face while Greengrass chuckled softly at his snide comment. "You happen to be striking, if you must know, Harry." He accepted Draco's use of his first name – a pureblood gesture of cordiality, and watched as pale eyes surveyed him. He had the pleasure of holding his ground, meeting Draco's assessment calmly.

"And I find myself looking forward to your attending of Hogwarts," Draco continued after a small silence. "Things would surely be interesting there."

"Might you remind me why?" he asked dryly.

"Professor Riddle is a highly acclaimed teacher at Hogwarts and he appreciates talent, blood and power. If the rumors of you were anything to go by, I assume that you are a rather talented wizard yourself?"

"And let me guess, you're looking to be competing against me for a _professor's_ attention?" Harry asked, amused now as he leaned back. Draco's face tensed slightly, but he gave no indication that he was affected by Harry's comment.

"I already have Professor Riddle's attention," Draco said clearly after a moment's pause. A significant look traded between him and the other three potential-Slytherins, and it would have piqued Harry's curiosity if it hadn't been such a trivial matter they were discussing. Fighting for Professor Riddle's attention…_as if_ he would be bothered by it.

Harry shrugged, not bothered at all by Draco. He pulled open his book and ignored the four of them, choosing to read ahead for their Charms textbook. Although he had already known almost by heart its contents, he would settle for re-reading it for any loopholes he missed before he got to the Hogwarts library.

Now, that was one thing that got him excited.

The afternoon soon rolled by and the compartment remained virtually undisturbed and quiet except for the witch with her trolley. She knocked by their compartment at half past four, and Harry had quietly waved her away. Draco had looked indignantly at him, and proceeded to halt the witch, before purchasing significant amounts of candy which he shared with his other friends. He did offer one to Harry out of courtesy, but Harry had waved him away irritatedly.

If not for the occasional meaningful glares that Draco sent his way for ignoring any of his attempts to make conversation –_or small talk-_ Harry would have conceded that the potential Slytherins were good company as compared to the boisterous Gryffindors.

The four future Slytherins were quiet for most part and they spoke politely in their haughty pureblood manners inbred within their blood, but they didn't cause a ruckus. Occasionally Harry would hear the loud laughters coming from the other compartments and he would lean back in frustration, wishing to storm off to their cabin and cast a silencing charm upon them. However, the purebloods seemed to have been taught differently, and they observed their behavior and manner of speaking most of the time. Maybe it was because of his presence, but he wasn't too concerned with that.

Thankfully Sirius had never forced him to be an uptight wizard observing proper wizarding protocol. He had learned them, and it seemed natural to him, but he never adopted those protocols unless he needed them.

"So," Draco cleared his throat uncertainly, looking at him meaningfully. Harry glanced up from his book and noticed that twilight had approached them. It was fairly dark outside, and Harry was sure that they were reaching Hogwarts soon. Thankfully, he had already changed into his robes and rid himself of the uncomfortable muggle clothing. "What house are you looking to be sorted to?"

Harry frowned, closing his book and sitting up straighter, having noticed a conversation that seemed more interesting coming along. He didn't answer immediately and Draco prodded on.

"Gryffindor, I suppose?" Draco asked, trading another significant look to Nott. "That was where your parents were. One would think that you would want to go to the house that your ancestors all went in…"

"Well," Harry said slowly. "If you already know what house I would be sorted to, why do you ask me then?"

Draco's eyes were surprised for a moment but he quickly steeled himself. "You don't seem like a Gryffindor. Too quiet."

"And what am I like?"

"Slytherin," Draco said promptly. "Or a Ravenclaw," he continued, his eyes moving towards the book in Harry's hand. "You could fit well into Gryffindor given your Potter blood, but you will never do well there. You don't act like a Gryffindor at all since you are far too mature."

Harry studied Draco for a moment before he replied, "You have been observing me, haven't you?"

A light smile flickered across Draco's face. "Like I said, Harry, you're interesting. And I find myself interested in you and your mannerisms. A little on the strange side, quiet and aloof which makes you the fit the bill of a typical Slytherin. I wouldn't be surprised if Professor Riddle picked you out amongst the students too. An honor, I believe. Father speaks most highly of him."

Harry laughed a little. "Whatever made you think that I am after the attention of Professor Riddle?" he asked, slightly incredulously. He couldn't believe that the blond was still harping on Professor Riddle. Was his life honestly revolved around his professor and getting Riddle's approval?

"Everyone wants the attention of Professor Riddle," Draco stated simply and beside him, Greengrass nodded vigorously, her eyes lighting up.

"I must be the first then," Harry said simply. "And…on other matters, I suppose you are right for once. I'm not looking to be sorted into Gryffindor."

"Where, pray tell, would you be then?" Draco asked in mock surprise.

"Actually, I think he would make a pretty good Slytherin," a third voice piped out from the side. Eyes turned to Zabini who had been quiet for most part of their journey. Seeing the many eyes looking at him curiously, Zabini continued, "One would think that he is suited for Ravenclaw… but those eyes speak differently."

"What about my eyes?" Harry said rather irritatedly.

"They're mysterious and dark. Enchanting even, and a tad too vivid," Zabini recited, as if from memory.

"I would love to continue the discussion on the shade of my eye colour but I'm afraid that this discussion is pointless," Harry said wryly and Zabini's cheeks flushed if only a little. "Well, I take it that all four of you are looking to be sorted to Slytherin, then?"

"Would there be any other house suited for us?" Greengrass asked, now that Zabini had paved open their conversation and the three of them were included in it. "Slytherin house are loyal and breeds only Slytherin."

"Pardon me, but you seem to be suggesting that Sirius was… illegitimate," Harry said lightly, but Greengrass froze, wary if she had offended him.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said carefully, her eyes guarded and watching him intently for a change in reaction.

"I'm sure you didn't," Harry replied bluntly, having nothing else to say to her.

Draco moved slightly, successfully having Harry's attention to him once more. He seemed a little uncertain though, as if he was debating if he should say his next words.

"Is there something you're trying to say, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his mood irritated now.

"You're like a canvas," Draco blurted out and Harry's eyes widened in amusement. He wordlessly invited the disbelief Draco to continue his words. "A blank one too…" his voice trailed off. "I cannot read what you're feeling except for irritation and annoyance. It's like your emotional range is limited, yet I can sense that it surely isn't."

"Touche," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "While I appreciate your analysis of my very being –"

"And there you go again," Nott said piping up to the nods of Zabini and Greengrass. "Being sarcastic and all cynical like on us… it's a little unnerving when you're eleven. You speak like father and the _Professor_."

Bloody hell. Would every topic with the Slytherins go back to Tom Riddle? Now they were even comparing the pair of them together. It wasn't as if he was trying to mimic his Professor. Then again, the man was the Slytherin's head of house.

"Glad to know," Harry replied dryly, reaching for his book lying abandoned on the seat next to him. He flipped open a page, and started reading, effectively ending their conversation.

For the rest of the journey, the Slytherins spoke in hushed whispers, occasionally sending him an odd look here and there.

* * *

><p>Harry looked around his surroundings. He was currently seated in a small boat shared with three other first years and on his way to the great Hogwarts castle. Puzzled why first years had to go to Hogwarts by the sea, he had asked the gamekeeper Hagrid, who told him rather proudly that this had been Dumbledore's idea to allow the first years a great view of the magnificent castle, and a chance to sail in the sea.<p>

Personally, Harry felt that it sounded like a load of rubbish. The students were probably sorted into different means of entering the castle so as to ensure that the traffic was not too cluttered, but it didn't exactly matter to him.

He turned back to the other first years he shared the boat with, catching part of their conversation. It appeared that they were talking about the sorting of their houses.

"… Fred was saying I had to fight a troll in order to be sorted to Gryffindor!" a freckly red head was proclaiming rather loudly to the other three. "He'll kill me if I get sorted to Hufflepuff, or worse Slytherin!"

"No you don't have to kill a troll," a bushy haired girl exclaimed, aghast. "All you have to do is put on the sorting hat!"

"The sorting hat?" Weasley echoed. "Whatever for?"

"To sort you into your houses…Personally I'm looking for Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. I heard Slytherin's been the house for dark witches a wizards," Granger's voice dropped dramatically into a hushed whisper.

"Exactly!" cried Weasley. "Though Professor Riddle is the head of Slytherin… Merlin knows that Defense Against the Dark Arts is the only class that I'm looking forward to…" his voice had a dreamy quality in it.

Harry rolled his eyes, and settled to looking at his surroundings and ignored their attempts to talk to him. The boat crossed the lake relatively quickly due to magic and they had reached the shore safely in fifteen minutes. By the time they stepped out of the boat though, their shoes were wet and Harry impatiently casted a cleaning charm. Judging by Weasley's sudden interested and calculative eyes, Harry guessed that the redhead was about to ask him to dry _his_ shoes too, and he quickly moved away from the group.

The first years stood together at the entrance leading to the Great Hall when the doors opened slightly to reveal Professor Riddle. The moment the man entered, the chattering first years fell silent and all of them gave their full attention to the Deputy Headmaster. He was tall and confident, and Harry could feel a calming but powerful air surrounding the man in lazy waves. At that moment, Harry was unsurprised why many of the students fell over their feet to impress the man. He was indeed powerful in all his right, perhaps even as powerful as Dumbledore himself.

"Good evening, first years," Professor Riddle said, flashing a smile at the crowd of silent, nervous first years. "In a few minutes time, you'll be called into the Great Hall to commence your sorting. Now for those of you who do not know, Hogwarts comprises of four houses, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff…."

Riddle continued on, explaining each house in brief detail and Harry allowed his mind to wander elsewhere, not really paying attention to his professor since he already knew the four houses quite well. The students fell into quiet murmurs as time went on and it was only when he felt the silence again that he looked up, to find Riddle's striking red eyes staring at him intently.

"Is that so, Mr Potter?" Riddle asked, the predatory red eyes fixed on him.

"Yes, Professor," Harry answered automatically, having no idea what the professor had just been talking about. Gasps from the students nearby made him realize that that was the wrong answer.

Harry allowed himself one glance at the professor's eyes and shivered internally at the piercing gaze, before forcing himself to look away. It wasn't like he didn't want to hold his gaze, but those eyes seemed dangerous… Hell, Harry _knew_ the professor was powerful – too dangerous.

A jab in the ribs woke him up from his slight trance. He turned furiously to the offender to meet shocked brown eyes. "He just asked you if all Slytherins were evil!" Bushy-haired hissed dramatically from his right. Harry blinked, wondering when did she appear next to him when they had been meters apart before Riddle arrived.

"Pay attention next time, Mr Potter, and leave your dreams till the night," Riddle said curtly, a warning look in his eyes as he moved on.

Harry glared at the offending professor, wondering why the professor was singling him amongst the different students. The professor did appreciate talent, but he didn't make it a point to single a particular student out to embarrass them… and Riddle _did _know that he was daydreaming.

Had he offended the Professor in some way, before the sorting even began?

Harry shook himself out of those thoughts, determine to not let it bother him. After all, it was only one professor that seemed to have an uncanny grudge or some sort against him, and it didn't matter… right? Never mind that the professor had great authority within the school or that the student population was rather defensive about their favorite professor.

It was five minutes later when Riddle concluded his long speech, and Harry sighed quietly in relief that his professor hadn't picked on him again. He had tried to pay attention this time, but it was hard not to let his thoughts wander off, especially with that soothing voice of Riddle… not that the man would ever get the satisfaction of knowing.

A few more instructions later, and the first years including himself were ready to go. As Professor Riddle waved his wand slightly, the doors leading to the Great Hall opened wide for the first years to pass. They scrambled to fall into two neat rows under Riddle's watchful eyes as they made their way towards the front of the Great Hall, where Harry could see the patched old sorting hat from his position at the far back.

Unconcerned with the murmurings of the older students as the first years filed in, Harry observed the surroundings around him, and mostly, the professors. They were not quite what he had imagined with their less than impressive stance, but they looked quite alright nevertheless. As he approached the sorting hat however, he suddenly felt a brief flare of… magic touch him.

He turned left, his eyes previously on Professor Snape's form to meet the curious blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster. Dumbledore was every bit of what Sirius had described him to be – eccentric, twinkling blue eyes and a long beard. But what intrigued him was the power, the magic that flowed off his very being in waves. It was similar to Riddle's and he doubted there was much difference in their intensities, but now that he had a comparison, Dumbledore's magic felt much lighter as to Riddle's heavy, seductive one.

Harry frowned, wondering if the other students could feel the magic surrounding the two Headmasters. He was sure he wasn't reading auras, for he could only feel the magic of _very_ powerful wizards, but it seemed as though no one else was particularly awed or bothered by the magic either. Sighing, Harry mentally placed these thoughts to the back of his mind to research on later.

"Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts!" Dumbledore said warmly, his eyes twinkling as he stood up, his arms outstretched to welcome the first years. "Now as Professor Riddle here," he gestured to Riddle who was standing at the platform with the sorting hat in the chair beside him, "has briefed you, you are about to be sorted into your houses. Professor, please begin the sorting."

"Abbott, Hannah," Riddle called loud and clearly. A small girl with pigtails detached herself from the straggle of first years and nervously made her away to the sorting hat, casting glances left and right.

She gingerly placed the sorting hat on her head and it was moments later when the hat declared her to be a Hufflepuff. Relieved but looking slightly disappointed, Abbott had quickly made her way to her house that was clapping enthusiastically.

The sorting carried on, but the number of students soon dwindled until it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry," Riddle said in the same monotonous tone, but when Harry moved his eyes up to his Professor's, he could have sworn he saw a slight curiosity and eagerness in Riddle's eyes.

Harry made his way confidently to the sorting hat, aware of the few murmurs from the purebloods that recognized his name but he didn't let it bother him. His eyes was upon the sorting hat which had a strange air around it.

He raised his hand and touched the hat, before placing it on his head…

"Ravenclaw!"

And then it was over. Harry glanced up to see the sea of students glancing at him, and the Ravenclaw table clapping politely at the new addition. Suddenly, he felt a sharp flare of magic from his left and turned before he could help himself, to meet the carefully controlled eyes of Riddle. Harry frowned in that split second, wondering what lay behind the unexpressive eyes of Riddle, but whatever it was, he couldn't tell what Riddle was thinking.

Not that it mattered, right? Harry thought dimly to himself as he made his way slowly to the Ravenclaw table. The students parted to create a space for him and he settled down.

Glancing around at the Great Hall from his new position, Harry realized that nothing much had changed. He had expected to get into Ravenclaw given his bookish nature and he didn't want to go to Gryffindor or Slytherin whereby those houses were plagued with that much prejudice. But now as his eyes followed Riddle's form, he wondered what it would have been like if he had been in Slytherin, where Riddle was the Head of House.

What was wrong with him? Hours ago, he had vowed that he would never become another wizard falling over his feet to gain approval and recognition from Riddle, yet his thoughts kept wandering back to the man now.

He would have to keep his behavior in check, he decided. This strange attraction towards the Professor had to be common… right? All the students must have felt it, and experienced what he had so that they held Riddle in so much awe and fascination. He still couldn't help the strange feeling within him though.

Nor could he help the smug voice in his head telling him that there was more to it.


	3. Dreams of Yesterday

**{A/N}** Title is inspired by DBSK's Thousand Year Love Song (ost The Legend).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

_TIME SKIP –_ 7 _years later_

Harry glanced, bored at his surroundings. It was dawn and he was the first to awake in his dormitory as usual. The other seventh-year Ravenclaws were asleep peacefully, unaware of the darkening thoughts that had been bothering him for the longest time.

It had been long since he had arrived at Hogwarts. That was seven years ago, when he had first started out, confident but unsure of himself nevertheless. Though, these years were not wasted for he had made plenty of use of his time to learn more, having always been eager to understand the essence of magic itself.

A couple of years back, Harry remembered fondly, he had exhausted most of the reading material in the Library. Even the librarian had recognized him, so frequently he was at the library even amongst the Ravenclaws. Sometimes he was seen in company of Draco Malfoy, but as the years went on, he became more and more alone, until he seemed to be surrounded only by various books piling up around him.

It was in his fifth year that a special exception was made, courtesy of the Board of Directors. He had no idea who had pushed forth that motion, but he had a hunch it would be one of his Professors… like Professor McGonagall, who knew that he was getting ahead in all their lessons. And thereafter the conference between the Board, he was granted special access to the Restricted Section.

Till now, Harry didn't know if that move was for his better or worse. The Restricted Section was restricted for a very good reason – to prevent the students from spiraling downwards into the dark abyss which was the dark magic the pages of the books contained. The Board had to trust that he was only going to the Restricted Section because of his desire as a Ravenclaw to learn more, and not to actually study Dark Arts in itself. But they were wrong.

It started out gentle, just an eagerness to learn more, but that had soon turned to curiosity as to exactly _how_ the spells worked. One step had led to more and by the seventh year, he was rather accomplished in Dark Arts even if he didn't use it often.

No one really noticed a change in him, Harry mused as he stared out of the window in the Ravenclaw tower overlooking the Black Lake. But maybe it was because there was virtually nobody to notice a change in him.

His bond with the rest of the Ravenclaws was barely there and all the better, negligible. They knew that he was capable, perhaps more so than all of them, but he never tried to gain points in class to show the Ravenclaw spirit. They resented him for it, but he didn't let it affect him. He wasn't going to start acting like Granger from Gryffindor, waving his hands every time the Professor asked a question just to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

And although the sorting hat might have felt that he was well suited for Slytherin, Harry begged to differ. The small, fragile acquaintance he had with Draco and the other three Slytherins faded over the years. The smallest shrugs, brushing off their attempts to involve him with their various businesses and unwillingness to converse had slowly done the trick. Their conversations basically involved Draco doing the talking, and Harry answering, but it seemed that the Malfoy Heir had soon gotten fed up. Any Slytherin wouldn't have done what he did, since they understood the importance of forging good contacts.

It wasn't as though he needed Draco though. The Black and Potter family fortune ensured that he could live a luxurious life, and it wasn't as if he wasn't capable enough to rely on himself in future. Malfoy was there purely for his own intent, Harry was sure, and he wasn't about to let Malfoy do whatever he intended to do.

On the plus side, he had maintained a relatively good relationship with the Professors. He was their model student, the top student every year but the third, and he never bothered them incessantly or tried to show off his knowledge and challenge the professors like Granger. He was polite to them, did their work on time and paid attention in class. All the Professors were satisfied in him… all but _one._

Harry didn't know what he had done to Professor Riddle, but it seemed as though the man had something against him, right down to their first meeting before the sorting.

Well, against wasn't the correct word. He paid as much attention as he could to Riddle's teachings and not to Riddle himself, but sometimes he couldn't help dreaming off to the soothing tone of his Professor during lessons. That was until Riddle's sharp voice would snap beside him, to answer another question he had asked.

He alternated between yes and no answers, and needless to say, Riddle wasn't pleased with him and would continue grilling him for the correct answer which he couldn't give since he didn't know what question had been asked. The rest of the class would be staring at him once again, looking at him as though he had lost his mind.

Bloody Riddle. He had _known_ that he wasn't listening in class, but instead of accusing him outright, he had slowly and merrily gave him question after question to watch him struggle answering, before giving him detention with _Filch._ Come to think of it, he had _never_ had a detention with Riddle himself despite the numerous times he had offended the Professor over the years. Was the Professor really irked at the sight of him that even his detention was delegated to the caretaker?

Harry sighed. Riddle valued power and blood, and he had both, so he didn't understand the insistence to bother him in almost every lesson. That man wasn't like this to the rest of the students, in fact, he had a rather close _bond_ with Draco Malfoy, whose father was a good friend of his. Not that he treated Draco like royalty, but he always made sure to voice his quiet approval of Draco, which would then make the rest of the class glare at Malfoy in envy. And then Riddle would pretend that he didn't know of the effect of his words and continue teaching, seemingly oblivious to the high tension in the class.

He was _so_ close to rolling his eyes, but he didn't. Instead, he kept to himself at the back of the class, trying to avoid Riddle.

There was though, something between Draco and Riddle. Given Riddle's character, Harry could tell that the man was a natural charmer –and _damn_ good at that too– thus he didn't value friendship or any form of relationship between people since he could charm anyone at anytime, without needing to sustain the relationship.

Also, he possessed sheer power and he could have gotten whatever he wanted with that alone, so there was never a need to forge any form of a bond. But he had one with Draco, and he always seemed to treat Draco a little _carefully_… a little different from the rest.

Harry furrowed his eye brows in confusion and frowned. There was a secret, as he had acknowledged years back. But he didn't know exactly what the secret was and it was like an itch that never seemed to subside.

"You're up already?" a sleepy voice sounded from behind him.

Harry turned to meet Terry Boot who was yawning loudly from his bed at the far end of the room. He gave a nod of recognition and watched Terry fumble around in his robes, before stopping to collect his books and making his way out of the Ravenclaw tower and to the Great Hall. He never stayed in the dormitory whenever his classmates had begun to wake up, for the peace and quiet would soon be disrupted. Thankfully, his dorm mates were never awake before dawn so he didn't have to roam the halls before food was served.

He hummed softly, walking at ease towards the Great Hall where he estimated that breakfast was being served currently. With familiarity, he glided through the stone cold floors and made his way down to the Ravenclaw table, pleased to know that he was the first to arrive. A quick glance at the rest of the Hall indicated that only three other students – two Hufflepuffs and a Slytherin – and the Professors were up.

Picking up a toast, Harry cheerfully nibbled on it, not really noticing the crimson eyes following his form.

* * *

><p>He was late and late for Defense Against the Dark Arts of all classes he could have been late for.<p>

Harry slid into his seat at the back of the classroom, his head bent down inconspicuously as he eyed Riddle warily. His previous lesson with Professor McGonagall had held him back slightly when she had requested to speak to him, and he was now late. Even though his reason for tardiness was acceptable, Harry snorted if Riddle would even consider his excuse. He would be lucky if he got away without a detention.

At least the Professor didn't spot him then, he thought triumphantly and started to pull out his books, placing them on the table. He stopped suddenly, his form still hunched over his bag when he felt piercing eyes on him, and slowly raised his head to meet the amused eyes of Riddle who was now standing right in front of his table.

"Bloody hell," He whispered and immediately pushed his chair backward, putting more space between him and the Professor.

Riddle had walked like a _bloody_ ghost and Harry hadn't even heard his footsteps.

"Language, Mr Potter," Riddle said curtly, his red eyes surveying him intently as he waved his wand once and the rest Harry's books in the bag fell neatly into a pile on the table. Well, Harry mused, Riddle always did seem extraordinary neat, maybe _too_ neat. "I expect you to be on time the next time. Twenty points from Ravenclaw," he said, much to the dismay of the other Ravenclaws who groaned quietly.

"Yes Professor," Harry said bitterly, glaring holes into his Professor's back as Riddle continued his class.

The lesson went on and on, and minutes later, Harry was struggling to keep his attention to what Riddle was saying about constructing magical wards instead of dreaming off. It was a cloudy day and it looked as though it was going to rain. He had a long and tired day yesterday, having been unable to put down a rare book on de-warding which he had been researching about…

He rested his head on the table, his eyes fluttering shut… and he felt a jab to his ribs suddenly.

"Oi!" hissed an irritated voice to his right.

"What?" Harry muttered, annoyed.

Harry snapped his eyes open in irritation to meet angry brown eyes. He gave a once-over quickly and noted the person to be Hermione Granger, who was currently glaring at him.

Granger did not answer, she merely pointed towards the front and Harry, with a sinking feeling of what he was to face, turned back to see the highly amused eyes of Riddle, who was standing in front of his table once again.

"Dreaming off again, Mr Potter?" Riddle tsked loudly, making his displeasure shown to the class once more. Several eyes swiveled to his direction and followed Grangers's example to glare holes into him for disrupting their favorite lesson.

When he did not answer, Riddle continued. "This makes me wonder what you are doing every night. Sleeping, perhaps? Or are you up to some _other_ businesses?" he sneered loudly, his voice clearly suggestive.

"With all due respect, Professor, I was up listening to the business _other people_ were up to," Harry snapped in annoyance and heard a faint gasp from Granger to his left.

"Detention, Mr Potter," Riddle said silkily, a large smile now in place of his sneer. "It does not concern me as to what had kept you up, only that you are doing inappropriate things in my lesson, as you have done for the past... seven years."

Riddle turned from him and seemed to glide back to the front of the class, where his desk was. His red eyes surveyed the entire class, before he said clearly, "And now, before Mr Potter so rudely interrupted us, there is a matter of great importance that I have to brief you about."

_Like there is anything that isn't of great importance to him,_ Harry thought savagely, but paid attention to Riddle nonetheless.

A simple tap of his wand to the board and a scroll appeared with words printed neatly on them. Harry assumed that it was Professor Riddle's handwriting from the familiar strokes he saw on his homework.

"The Dueling Competition," Riddle said, reading the bold words right at the top of the scroll. "Compulsory to all seventh-years, and that would mean all of you sitting right here."

_No way. _He was actually going to end up dueling, in his seventh-year, no less.

"The Dueling Competition is a joint effort between the Ministry and the three distinguished magical schools, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts. As the Tri-Wizard tournament is deemed too dangerous to host, we have in its place, a newly proposed idea of a Dueling Competition."

A hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Ms Granger?"

"Professor, I was wondering if this tournament is going to be hosted at Hogwarts or the other schools?" Granger's high pitched voice sounded.

Riddle nodded at her question. "The Britain Ministry of Magic, who had proposed this idea, has also suggested letting our home school host the event. That is to say, Hogwarts. However, not all of you will have the chance to compete with the other schools." Another tap to the scroll and more words appeared beneath. Students craned their neck for a better look.

"Only _one_ student from each school will be competing with each other."

Cries of protests sounded immediately as the students protested, having lost their chance of competing with the other magical schools. The majority of them knew they didn't stand a chance if there would only be _one_ student representing Hogwarts.

Harry frowned. The Dueling Competition sounded as though it took up too much time, anyway. He wondered if he could allow himself to be eliminated… but before he could think of exactly _how_ to be eliminated, Professor Riddle interrupted his thoughts.

"Each school would be hosting their own Dueling Competition in their respective schools," Riddle explained. "There would be three rounds of competition, and only one student will emerge victory at the end of it all. Winning the Hogwarts Dueling Competition will earn you a spot within the Auror Department, and winning the International Dueling Competition will earn you an additional thousand galleons. Any questions?"

Several hands shot up into the air and Harry watched as Professor Riddle answered each student with a fair amount of patience.

"Do we _really_ get a spot within the Auror Department?"

"Are the thousand galleons paid to us or our parents?" another student demanded loudly.

"What are the three rounds consisting of?" Dean Thomas shouted, trying to get Riddle's attention.

Riddle waved a hand majestically and the students fell silence at once, almost as if he had casted a spell on them, and it was like magic. But then again, the students _were_ under Riddle's charm, Harry thought in boredom.

"Yes, Ms Brown, you do get a spot within the Auror Department straight away. However, the details concerning the three rounds will only be released a day before the each round, and thus I cannot disclose the details."

Groans met Riddle's words and the students slumped in their seats. Harry snorted from his position at the back and rolled his eyes. As if a difference of one or ten days was enough to prepare one to be the Dueling Champion.

Though, this idea now sounded a tad more appealing. He had been reluctant to join the competition at first because he hated being in the limelight, but if it guaranteed him a spot within the Auror Department… then the very idea might be considerable.

Despite the rising Dark Lord that now appeared in the Prophet every few weeks, the Auror Department was still _very_ strict in their selection of potential Aurors. Even with their NEWTs completed, Auror hopefuls still had to attend another three year course on basic dueling strategies, before being accepted to the department.

But this competition could give him a spot straight away even without the three year course. After all, which Dueling Champion needed to attend courses on dueling skills? It would give him an additional three years to do whatever he wanted to with his life and it sounded very appealing.

That was, if he won the competition, but if he put his effort to it, there was that chance that he might just emerge victorious. He was the top in his level almost every year after all…

"Who is going to be the one in charge of the Dueling Competition, Professor Riddle?" a short girl with pig-tails said, her hand in the air. Curious eyes turned back to Professor Riddle.

"Me," Riddle smirked and Harry's eyes widened.

No _bloody_ way. If Riddle that unfair _bastard_ was in-charge of the Dueling Competition, then obviously –

"But Professor, don't you have too much on your plate right now as both the Defense Professor and the Deputy Headmaster?" Harry said quickly, before he could stop himself.

Eyes dancing with mirth turned towards him. "I'm touched that you're concerned for my wellbeing," Riddle said, a wide grin now etched upon his face. Both of them knew that Harry wasn't concerned, not in the least. "But let me assure you, I am well qualified to this job."

Harry huffed.

As if to prove his point, Riddle waved his wand and new words appeared on the board.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

_GRAND WINNER OF THE 1974 BMMDC_

Gasps were immediately heard from the awe-struck students who immediately started whispering amongst themselves, their fingers pointing at the impressive looking title on the board. Some Hufflepuffs started giggling and even the Gryffindors looked impressed.

But Harry himself could not help a tinge of respect towards Riddle too. The Britain Ministry of Magic Dueling Competition _was_ a highly esteemed competition. Many talented witches and wizards took part in it to the point that only specially trained witches and wizards like Aurors could stand a chance in winning, let alone getting into the final round. But Riddle wasn't an Auror, and if he could win against all the other Aurors, then the man had to be something powerful.

And Harry had also once heard from Sirius that Dumbledore had been the winner of that competition before. It looked like Riddle had earned a grudging respect from him… only that his attitude needed a lot more work for Harry to respect the man, no matter how powerful he was.

"Am I qualified to be in charge of the Dueling Contest now, Mr Potter?" Riddle's snide voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Are you going to be the one conversing to the international guests?" Harry shot back before he could help himself. "Because your pride clearly needs some work."

Another round of gasps was instantly heard from the students at his insolence who started glaring at him and shaking their heads for insulting their favorite professor. Harry was sure that he was going to get another detention…

"Detention again, Mr Potter," Riddle sang gleefully. He waved his wand to signal the end of class, all too aware of Harry glaring hatefully at him. "Class dismissed."

_Bloody_ Riddle had given him two detentions in the space of one lesson. It seemed as though the Professor preferred menial work as compared to taking away points, which didn't seem like a better alternative to Harry since he didn't care much for the House Cup.

Fuming, Harry rose from his seat and quickly left the class, trying to ignore the gleeful eyes upon his back.

Why couldn't Riddle just lay off him?

* * *

><p>"Hey, Harry, aren't you going down to watch the Dueling Contest between the Professors?" a bright voice chirped from his back.<p>

Frowning, Harry clasped his book shut and stood up to face the eagerly beaming face of Terry Boot. He was already in his robes and looked as though he was dressed to go out, even though they had a free period until dinner two hours later.

"Dueling Contest?" Harry said carefully, watching Terry bounce eagerly from one foot to another.

"Yes, yes, the students were complaining that they didn't know anything about dueling and Professor Riddle decided to show us what real dueling was about! He's going to be dueling Professor McGonagall in the Great Hall now and everyone, including the other levels are welcomed to watch!" Terry said happily before his eyes turned curious. "Aren't you coming along to see their match? Might be of help to our actual contest."

Harry looked at the book he was about to finish reading and sighed resignedly. "Yeah, it would," he said and proceeded to follow Terry out of the Ravenclaw common room.

Left and right as he walked down the steps to the Great Hall, Harry could see students milling in the same direction as he and Terry were, presumably to watch the match between Riddle and Professor McGonagall. He vaguely wondered who would emerge victorious, but decided that Riddle was most probably going to. Professor McGonagall was a powerful witch in her own right, but she was nothing like Riddle, who seemed to possess sheer power.

Harry glanced unexcitedly at the students chattering around him. He waved to Terry, who skipped over to join the other Ravenclaw seventh-years when he spotted them, leaving him alone in the sea of students crowding around an arena which had been temporarily set up for the duel.

The arena was circular and about five feet in the air to give the students a clear view of what was happening on the platform. Shimmering around the platform was a silvery-white shield designed to prevent spells from reaching the students or destroying parts of the Great Hall. Judging by the tenor, Harry deduced that the spells would not rebound back into the arena, but merely dissolve upon contact with the shield.

He shrugged. It would have been more interesting if the spells could rebound because it would have provided a greater challenge, but with the different spells flying around the enclosed arena, things could be messy and hard for the spectators to view the match.

"Attention please," the sharp and clear voice of Professor McGonagall rang out. She stood in the platform with Riddle, about twelve feet apart from each other. They were not in dueling stance yet, relaxed with their wands by the side of their hands.

"Professor Riddle and I are about to commence our dueling. Please note that this is a _friendly_ duel, and when I say friendly, I mean that there are no spells that will cause severe or long-lasting damage, as well as no dark curses, hexes and spells," at these words, many students sighed in exaggeration, but a sharp glare from Professor McGonagall made them fell silent at once. "Keep in mind the dueling positions used for it will do you good in your own Dueling Contest." She turned back to Riddle, who was watching her intently, a serene smile in place. "Professor, if you will."

The two professors relaxed into their dueling stance. There was a count of three before Riddle shot the first spell, alarmingly fast towards Professor McGonagall, who did not bother with a shield and merely spun out of the way. Harry admired her fast reflexes for her age, but it seemed like Riddle was not doing too bad either.

As the dueling went on, he noticed that the students were split into two groups, cheering for their respective teachers. Most of the students were shouting for Professor Riddle who looked confident as he fired spell after spell without seeming to stop, while a smaller few made up of Gryffindors mostly were shouting words of encouragement for Professsor McGonagall.

Harry watched, intrigued at a spell that Riddle had casted. For a moment, it seemed to enclose Professor McGonagall in a golden swirl and the other Professor seemed stunned for a moment before she quickly casted a reversing spell.

Another two hexes flew at lightning speed towards McGonagall and one of them caught her right arm, tearing apart the sleeves. There was a loud groan coming from the students clad in red-and-gold, and much cheering for Professor Riddle who merely smirked.

"Professor Riddle!" a girl screamed hysterically from Harry's back as Riddle got another one up on McGonagall.

Harry watched as she caught Riddle's attention and he turned his bemused eyes on her, before his eyes slowly shifted to Harry, who was frozen in the midst of screaming students. A long second passed as Harry stared hardly into Riddle's eyes and the bemusement was replaced by an unreadable expression. Just as Harry thought he would turn away, Riddle turned his attention back to Professor McGonagall and just barely managed a shield in time to deflect McGonagall's curse.

Harry shook his head, angry with himself for losing himself the second he had stared into Riddle's eyes. It was like the first day of Hogwarts all over again, back when he had been unable to stare straight into Riddle's eyes. It seemed as though his attention tended to leave him whenever he looked at Riddle… and he wasn't even sure what he was thinking about.

Looking up, Harry caught sight of the endings of the duel. Triumphantly, but not arrogantly, Riddle sent a last hex towards McGonagall which caught her body. Harry recognized it as the body-binding spell from the wand movement of Riddle and the spells color, and sure enough, Professor McGonagall froze a second later, too late to defend herself after just sidestepping a few of Riddle's other hexes.

The crowd of students emerged into shouts as Professor Riddle was declared winner by Professor Sprout who stood with the students outside the platform. A satisfied smile and a wave of the wand later, Professor McGonagall was released and the two professors bowed to each other. There was a round of applause as Professor McGonagall stepped down, but surprisingly, Riddle remained on stage in all his glory.

"And this is where the interesting part comes in," Riddle said clearly, drawing the attention of the students once again when they had settled down. Eyes turned back to the professor, curious as to what would be happening next. "Two students will be selected for a friendly duel. After watching the match between myself and Professor McGonagall, I feel that it would be more beneficial if you were to witness a match that is of your level."

Excited murmurs broke out amongst the students once again. "Who would be chosen to duel?" a Hufflepuff called out loudly.

"Volunteers," Riddle said clearly and hands shot up into the air at once. Some were hesitant, some nervous and some were downright enthusiastic. Harry rolled his eyes and moved away from one girl who was frantically shouting for Professor Riddle's attention, brushing off her spit from his robes.

"Professor McGonagall," Riddle said after a moment's pause and indicated McGonagall standing at the far left. "And I would be selecting a student each. Professor, if you will."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her eyes darting through the numerous hands raised for a moment or two before she called out loudly, "Dean Thomas, if you will come on stage."

The boy looked surprised momentarily before he was quickly pushed onto the stage by the Gryffindors shouting enthusiastically around him, clapping his back and wishing him good luck. He slowly made his way up the stairs and stood near the edge of the platform, unsure eyes now darting back quickly towards the crowd of students.

Now it was Professor Riddle's turn to pick a student. Harry could see the man's red eyes turn calculative for a second, and he could swear that he saw a strange expression flicker across before it was smoothly erased by clear decisiveness.

"Might I suggest one of my house?" Riddle said, pausing before he waved his hand in the direction of the Slytherins. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry's eyes quickly darted towards Malfoy, who looked pleased as he briskly walked towards the platform. The Slytherins were quieter in wishing him luck with a murmur or two when he passed. Harry watched as Riddle gave Draco a significant look as they passed each other. The blond looked tense as he made his way on stage.

"When you are ready, the duel will begin."

Wands were raised high up as Draco and Thomas took their positions. Harry could tell that the both of them were cautious and unsure, but at least Draco held himself differently and better than Thomas. He still had the arrogant air around him which made him seem all the more confident, even if his shoulders were tensed and his face narrowed in concentration.

As the duel started, Harry watched as Draco attacked in the offensive, blasting two spells after another. Thomas did not bother to duck the incoming spells but merely shouted out a shield to block the spells. It did work, despite the slight tremble the shield gave at the impact of the two curses.

The rest of the duel was uninteresting compared to the duel between the Professors, but it was to be expected. Harry vaguely wondered what he would be like up there on the platform. Would he go for a head-on clash with the opponent, or stick to the defense until the opponent had worn himself out? Or would he use his traits as a Ravenclaw to attack with inventive, new spells that most people hadn't heard of from the books in the library? He could also attack like a Slytherin, cunningly by springing an attack or feinting.

"No muggle dueling, Mr Thomas," Harry turned his attention back to the two students. He recognized the voice as Riddle's and although it wasn't obvious, there was a slight distaste and annoyance in the tone as Riddle regarded the ongoing duel.

Dean had abandoned the use of his wand which lay broken on the side platform and was now resorting to muggle dueling by using his bare hands. Bemused, Harry chuckled slightly as he watched Thomas roll over the floor and attempted to trip Draco off his feet with his outstretched hands. Draco was clearly irritated and shot a spell towards the outstretched hands which immediately swung to the left in order to avoid being hexed.

The Gryffindors roared with laughter at Thomas's frantic attempts but the Slytherins were clearly unamused and watched him critically.

"I said no muggle dueling, Mr Thomas," Riddle's voice came again, but the irritation in it was now clear for most to see. "This is a wizarding duel."

Thomas jumped back to his feet and narrowly ducked a spell from Draco. "But Professor!" he cried indignantly and tottered a few steps towards where Riddle and Professor McGonagall were standing. "He broke my wand! On purpose!"

Sniggers met his words and a few Hufflepuffs broke out into laughter. As McGonagall took a step forward to intervene and end the duel, Draco saw his opportunity in Thomas's momentary distraction.

He stepped forward and quickly casted a quick and simple stunning spell. The spell was at point-blank range and Thomas fell forward, straight as a board almost immediately and the duel was announced over in Draco's favor.

Applause, angry protests and laughter met McGonagall's proclamation, but Draco seemed unaware of the reaction from the audience, and only relieved that he had won the duel. It was quick and Harry could have missed it if he hadn't been focusing on the blond, but the instant the duel ended, Draco had allowed his attention to wander back to Riddle.

And if he hadn't caught Draco's glance, he wouldn't have noticed the small nod of affirmation that Riddle gave to Draco. He frowned once more; everything just seemed to add up that there _was_ something ongoing with Draco and Professor Riddle… like Draco was trying to get approval from Riddle. Everyone tried to, but Draco made it seem as though he was on a more personal level.

Turning back to Professor McGonagall who had once again regained the attention of the students, Harry tried to ignore the snide little voice in his head telling him that there was more to Draco and Riddle. He wondered if he would privy to this little secret had he maintained his acquaintance with Draco… but he doubted it. It seemed as though only Draco's little circle of Slytherins had any idea as to what was happening, but even so, their knowledge was limited.

After a short debriefing, the students were released to go back to their common rooms. Just as Harry was making his way out of the Great Hall, he heard a vaguely familiar voice shouting for him from the back. Footsteps were slowly gaining up on him.

"Hey, wait up! Wait up, Potter!" the voice was loud and slightly hoarse.

Spinning around, Harry came face to face with a figure that was slightly taller than him, with bright blue eyes, red hair and freckly complexion. Harry instantly recognized the boy to be Ronald Weasley, who was a Gryffindor in his year.

Whatever had he done now, to set a Gryffindor on his heels? He took a step back immediately, putting more space between himself and the Gryffindor.

"Yes?"

"Yeah, wait, gimme a minute," Weasley muttered.

Harry waited, eyeing the red-head who was now flidding through his pockets in search of something. Behind Weasley, two of his friends, including Dean Thomas, were waiting for him and chattering excitedly about the previous duel. Harry eyed them in suspicion, his attention wavering. He was going to leave in approximately… six seconds if Weasley didn't hurry the hell up.

"Aha! Knew I've got it somewhere. Here," he shoved a piece of parchment into his hands roughly. At his confused expression, Weasley offered a brief explanation. "Dumbledore told me to er- pass you this, yeah." He shifted uneasily at his unwavering stare, his eyes downcast.

"Dumbledore?" he echoed in slight disbelief. What did _Dumbledore_ want with him?

"Listen," Weasley said suddenly, looking around left and right in slight nervousness and leaned forward slightly. Harry resisted the urge to take another step back. "I have no idea what happened, only that Dumbledore wants you to have this. If there's nothing else, I'd be making a move."

And just like that, Weasley quickly maneuvered himself out of Harry's range, his friends following closely behind him, whispering amongst themselves. He watched in bemusement as he caught a snippet of their conversation ("_restricted section"_… "_Dark arts" …"bad as Malfoy, that one"_) and realized what had been up with Weasley. Well, it wasn't like he wasn't practicing Dark Arts, right?

Only, whatever did _Dumbledore_ want with him?


	4. Flowers have Fallen

**{A/N} **Title credit to JYJ's Fallen Leaves. Extra long chapter for long wait? ;) But note that it's AU, especially for this chapter about Merlin.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Harry hummed softly, tapping his foot leisurely as he scanned through the various books in the Restricted Section of the library. After quite some time, he had finally finished reading and practicing on de-warding a couple of days ago and was now looking for other books to move onto other branches of magic.

When he had first started out initially, there were just so many types of magic that he hadn't explored and it frustrated him to no end. He was so overwhelmed upon exploring the Restricted Section because it made him realize that even if he had covered all the Hogwarts material, there was just so much more he still didn't know about. Hogwarts, he realized belatedly, had only taught a small branch of magic and there was much that the students hadn't even heard of, let alone imagined.

The branch of magic that Hogwarts students had been taught by the professors was merely the basics to survive in the Wizarding World. Even so, Harry doubted that his professors really knew about other forms of magic, unless they too went about their own research.

Other more controversial forms like Blood Magic, Dark Arts, Necromancy, and Legilimency to name a few were only briefly touched upon in the seventh year, but most of them weren't even introduced. He could hardly believe that such wide range of magic could be casted away like that, especially when he delved further into them and learned even more. There was a lot of potential that had been wasted because they were deemed as "dark magic".

Mournfully, he wished that these were part of the curriculum at Hogwarts. Some might have said that Durmstrang was a better alternative, but even they didn't start on these until their seventh year. He might have been able to teach himself through the books and notes, but it was a slow process to learn alone. It would have been a lot more efficient if there were professors to guide him and point out to him his mistakes and the important steps. The wand movements were another complicated part that often made him confused as there was only so much that a book could illustrate.

Though, Riddle's little group probably had all the help they needed from the man himself. Harry hadn't heard much about this little gathering, but he knew that it was exclusive only to the selected students that were handpicked by the Deputy Headmaster. Most of the students were Slytherins, and that was to be expected since Riddle was the Head of the Slytherins. However, there were also quite a number of Ravenclaws, couple of Hufflepuffs and even some Gryffindors.

There was no particular way the students were chosen, but most of them had influential or pureblood families that Riddle knew on a personal level. Not to say that they all hailed from dark pureblood families only, but most had respectable background and idolized Riddle. The few who weren't chosen based on their blood were singled out by their talent and magical capabilities. Some were shrewd in theory and strategizing while others were more adept in the usage of magic itself, but all had a certain degree of talent.

He did not have much of an idea what the group did during their little sessions, but he knew enough. Mostly they practiced magic, and not always Dark Arts from the little snippets Draco used to drop, but magic in essence. They covered the school work in the beginning of the sessions and then moved onto other branches of magic, and from what the Malfoy Heir had claimed, dueling was a large part of their sessions. He would have to start practicing if he wanted to have an upper hand on that group to win the Dueling Competition, especially since Riddle would probably be grilling them now.

However, that pretty much explained why Riddle never scheduled detentions with him, Harry thought, slightly disgruntled. If he had done detentions with Riddle all throughout the years, then it would have been a lot of time the professor wasted supervising him. The man probably thought that sentencing him to work with Filch was good enough a punishment for him so that he could focus on his little group.

Harry grumbled. It wasn't like he was jealous, but Riddle was a brilliant teacher and he could probably have studied much more. But then again, Harry was sure that the other students hadn't covered things like Necromancy (or at least the basic level of it) and Blood Magic. Those were too complex, even with the help of a teacher, and some form of talent had to be there… which he wasn't too sure that his school mates possessed.

Occulmency though, Harry suspected they had. He wasn't fond of prodding into the minds of people, but he had tried once or twice to Draco's when he found the blond particularly suspicious, sneaking around in corridors late at night. To be fair, he was doing the exact same thing but only because he had stayed too late at the library.

Upon entering Draco's mind, Harry found that there was a misty barrier and he had retreated after that. He could probably go past that barrier, but not without Draco noticing the invading presence and he certainly didn't want to draw attention to himself or his knowledge of mind arts. Talented as he was in the school curriculum, he doubted that Draco knew the extent of his research.

Pushing past the stack of books, Harry reached out for a heavy tome lathered with dust from the top of the shelves and managed to take it once he stretched a little bit. Thankfully he had grown during the summer of his fifth year and was no longer the shortest in his year, even if he was petite… something he had inherited from his mother.

Frowning, Harry dusted the cover of the book and leaned in for a closer look. _Adventures of Merlin_, the cover spelled out in curly gold words. He quickly flipped it open and his eyes fell on the content page, where the various chapters were introduced. Eyes widening slightly, he scanned through the introduction and realized that the book he was holding was pure gold. It contained much information about the works of Merlin, and it wasn't the spin-off fairytale that some wizards liked to portray; it was the full account of Merlin's life and the real history and collection of all his achievements.

There were eighteen whole chapters dedicated to the spell work of Merlin and it included many branches of magic, including light and dark magic, which proved that Merlin was not merely a Light wizard as most Wizarding folk liked to proclaim. Magic was magic, whether light or dark and it appeared that Merlin held the same views as he did.

Hurriedly scanning through the pages, he found more about the life of Merlin including small details like how the Order of the Merlin came about and its purpose… right till the end with the real account of Merlin's death and his tragic romance with the Lady of the Lake. He didn't have the time to read in detail since he was almost late for Dumbledore's appointment, but from the brief bits he saw, fiction and reality was far apart.

The accounts of Merlin he heard from Sirius seemed like fantasy now that he was holding the real thing in his hand. It was obvious that this book held nothing but truth from the way things were properly accounted for, right up to Merlin's death. And it seemed as though the end wasn't marked solely by the death of Merlin.

In fact, judging by the other three chapters describing the aftermath of his death, it looked like there was much more to a simple death…

He just didn't know how true his muse was at the moment.

* * *

><p>Footsteps slowing down, Harry stood before the door leading to Dumbledore's office, raising his hand to knock twice. There was the sound of faint rustling as someone moved within the room and a moment later, the door swung open to reveal the Headmaster's office.<p>

He gave a glance at the room and noted it to be bigger than the normal Professor's office, but that was to be expected. Though he had never came to Professor Dumbledore's room, he recognized a few of the objects Sirius had pointed out to him long ago – the portraits that hung on the wall pretending to be sleeping and the numerous gadgets that decorated the professor's table.

He was surprised however, by the darkly handsome figure sitting on the chair adjacent to Dumbledore's table.

"Professor Riddle?"

The man gave a small smirk which was illuminated by the small lamp on the table, but he did not reply. Instead, it was Dumbledore who leaned forward to speak.

"Take a seat, Mr Potter," Dumbledore invited casually, his arms spread wide as he indicated the chair in front of the table.

Warily, Harry approached the seat and sat down, taking care to avoid the twinkling eyes upon him. If both the Deputy and the Headmaster were present, then surely what they had to say would be a matter of great importance. But it didn't mean that he had to like the fact that Dumbledore seemed to be scheming something by the looks of his slightly eager expression.

"I assume that you do not know why you've been called?" Dumbledore said after another second's pause.

_Obviously. _"No, Professor," he said and shook his head.

Riddle took the lead. "As you are aware, you have been Hogwart's top pupil of the year for almost every year running," Riddle began and Harry's attention fell to him.

"What does that have to do with my presence here, Professor? Surely that doesn't warrant any explanation or sorts," Harry replied guardedly, wondering if they were trying to imply that he cheated in some way or another… but it wasn't a high possibility given the lack of threatening truth serums in vicinity.

"Oh no, my boy!" Dumbledore intervened jovially. "It's actually not a grave matter, now relax yourself. It's a Hogwarts tradition, however, that the top student of the graduating year be called forth for an appointment with the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmaster. Both Professor Riddle and I have gone through with it, and I assure you that it is not a great fuss at all."

"An appointment?" he echoed.

Riddle explained, "As you very well know, all students at Hogwarts undergo their Career Guidance sometime between their fifth and sixth year, depending on the choice of their professors. I assume your Head of House Professor Flitwick had gone through the motions with you?"

Harry nodded.

"Well then Harry," Dumbledore said cheerfully, dropping the formalities. "I'm sure it wouldn't hurt for you to tell us the contents of your Career Guidance. It will make our session a lot faster and more efficient if Professor Riddle and I were to better understand where your preference lies."

"I don't understand."

"The purpose of this session, Harry, is merely a more specific Career Guidance. Hogwarts in all its legend has produced countless of great students. But where do they go after they graduate from Hogwarts? The very best – like you are – are destined for great things. But alas, the great cannot be attained without a path to follow and therein lies the Headmasters of the school to guide you to the path of greatness," Dumbledore ended his passionate speech in a dramatic flair, twinkling blue eyes capturing his own once again. "Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry made a non-committal sound and judging from Riddle's sour expression, the man looked like he was refraining himself to make a cynical comment. Well at least he wasn't the only one who felt that Dumbledore had overdone the dramatics.

"What he means to say," Riddle interrupted, his voice strictly professional though Harry could hear the underlying tones of irritation. "Is that for generations, the Headmasters of Hogwarts pledge to help guide the best students to even greater heights. There are selected few professions that only few wizards have embarked upon – professions that you would not find in leaflets from your fifth and sixth year."

"So you mean to convince me to have a change in career choice?" he said, frowning. He didn't like the sound of his future being swayed left and right by the two Headmasters and he was quite sure that they would have rather opposing views about where he should go. The positive side was that he didn't necessarily have to listen to their advice…

"Not convince, my dear boy!" Dumbledore cried. "Merely to provide a wider array of options for the talented. Although, quite a few of Hogwarts top students have changed their career choice, whether for the worse or for the better, only they can tell, though not many had a tale as tragic as that of Emericks' after the change…" his voice trailed of wistfully.

"That does not mean to say, however, that all top students need to change their choices. Professor Dumbledore and I have pursued our dreams to be professors of Hogwarts nonetheless," Riddle said.

"I can't imagine," Harry muttered under his breath but from the sharp look that Riddle gave him, it seemed as though the man had heard him.

"Well, so do we start? Any new, bizarre careers that I should know of?" Harry said dryly, not intending to change his choice of career in the least.

While he wasn't particularly fond of being an Auror, he wasn't against it either. Sirius was an Auror, as was his father, so it seemed like a viable route for him to go down. It wasn't what interested him the most, but it gave him more free time to do whatever he wanted… without supervision. He was almost gleeful about graduating from Hogwarts and having freedom all to himself without watching out for professors hovering behind his back.

"Not so fast," Riddle cut in. Harry turned his mock-outraged eyes towards the man who seemed to sneer slightly. "As I've said, we need to know what you and Professor Flitwick have discussed previously. This is to allow us –"

"To gain a better understanding of my preference," Harry interrupted. "Yes, I heard you the first time," he added after seeing the stony expression of Riddle. "Can we move on? Or do I just reveal the contents of my Career Guidance two years ago?"

At Dumbledore's nod, Harry sat back comfortably and contemplated, trying to remember what he and Professor Flitwick had discussed. There wasn't much to it, to be honest. He only remembered his professor's brief encouragement for him to speak out and the delight upon learning that he was going to go down the noble road of being an Auror.

"Well, Professor Flitwick and I… we discussed about the various choices in the Wizarding career," Harry started lamely, chancing a small glance at Riddle who looked as if he was going to pop a vein.

"And?" the man prodded on impatiently.

"He recommended me several choices according to my strengths which he said were evenly distributed except for History of Magic and Divination which I dropped in the third year," Harry offered.

"The specifics, Mr Potter," Riddle said through gritted teeth and Harry refrained himself from smiling gleefully. Oh, Riddle was just _far_ too impatient, but judging by the expression on the man, Harry was soon to be overstepping his boundaries.

"I told him that I wanted to be an Auror and that was it," he concluded.

"That's all?" There was surprise in Dumbledore's voice which made Harry instantly alert.

He shifted slightly, wondering what more could Dumbledore be expecting, but he decided to play the man at his game. "Not really," he hummed, pretending to be oblivious to Dumbledore's eagerness for him to continue. "He encouraged me to work for my dreams and pursue my ambitions," he finished and watched happily as Dumbledore seemed to deflate at his answer.

"Didn't Professor Flitwick offer you… other choices in career path, Harry, my boy?"

"Nope," Harry said cheerfully but his eyes were guarded and eyeing Dumbledore.

"Any clubs or societies to join, perhaps?" Dumbledore seemed a little worried now.

"If you're talking about the Wizards' Association then you have a thing comi–"

"Now, Dumbledore, we aren't interrogating Mr Potter now, are we?" Riddle interjected smoothly, successfully drawing the attention of both the Headmaster and the student. Dumbledore seemed to give a start momentarily before he focused and waved a hand merrily.

"Ah, Professor Riddle. I quite forgot that you were there for a second," Dumbledore said languidly.

"Clearly," Riddle's voice was cold. "Now if Mr Potter cannot give us any more details as to his conversation with Professor Flitwick, let us now move on to the Sorting Hat."

"The Sorting Hat?" Harry asked incredulously, spinning his head around to see the Sorting Hat resting on a shelf.

He watched as Professor Riddle waved his wand to summon the Sorting Hat and rounded up on the man instantly.

"Am I going to be resorted, Professor?" he demanded. This was getting absurd.

"Nothing of that sort, Harry," Dumbledore's voice came again and Harry relaxed slightly. "I do hope you remember the Sorting Hat talking to you during your first year? It's the exact same process, only that the Sorting Hat will be looking as to the possible career choice you can have. It knows your deepest thoughts after all, even those you're unconscious of."

Harry's eyes widened. Dumbledore wasn't serious about asking him to expose himself vulnerably to an old hat that reported to him? There were countless of things that weren't meant to be seen and if Dumbledore got wind of it…

"Absolutely not," Harry said quickly. "My thoughts are private," he added.

"Harry my boy-"

"I am not your boy," Harry snapped.

"Surely you see the importance…" Dumbledore tried again.

"I most certainly do not."

"If you must know, I am not bound to the Headmaster," a loud voice drawled from overhead. Harry and Dumbledore spun around to see the Sorting Hat who seemed to wink at him from above.

At their perplexed expressions, the Sorting Hat explained, "It is a common no good assumption that the Sorting Hat is bound to the Headmaster. However, that is only a rumor for the Hat is bound to Hogwarts instead, of which includes all the students. I assure you, Mr Potter, that your secrets will be quite very safe with me."

"I wonder what secrets a boy at your age could have," Riddle's voice sounded from his left.

Harry glared. "Not too far from yours, I believe."

"Professor Riddle," Dumbledore's stern voice said. He waved his wand and the Sorting Hat flew to the table where it settled down. "Now is not the time." He turned back to Harry and picked up the Sorting Hat, standing up and walking towards him with the Hat offered in his outstretched hand. "You've heard what the Sorting Hat has said, Harry."

Harry eyed the hat suspiciously.

"I won't bite-" the Sorting Hat sung impatiently, looking utmost eager to get inside his mind.

"Only because you can't," Harry finished but he took the Hat nonetheless and settled it gingerly upon his head.

'_Oho!'_ the Sorting Hat cried into his head and Harry could feel it ruffling through his memories, all through his first year to present time at an alarming rate. _'Been a bad boy, have you?'_ the tone was smug.

'_Get it over and done with if you expect to remain as a Hat,'_ Harry hissed mentally, annoyed.

The hat was humming joyfully as it sieved through his memories, pausing at some particularly eventful ones to give a snide comment or two.

'_Dark Arts…!'_ The hat exclaimed as they paused at a memory of him casting a severing charm that would kill if wounded too deeply. _'I must say, Mr Potter, I never expected that of you when I sorted you to Ravenclaw. If I had known better, off to Slytherin you would have gone even with your insistence… but of course, you stand firm to your decision eh?'_

Harry grumbled.

'_Never the socialite, I see,'_ the Hat mused, pouring over the memories of him brushing away company. _'Well that certainly rules out jobs that require too much correspondence – politicians, international departments and ministerial positions the like. But it isn't much of a loss to you, is it? Aha, an Auror! Is that truly your wish, Mr Potter?'_

'_Yes,'_ Harry said after a moment's pause. Well, even if it weren't _truly _his wish, it was good enough.

'_But you aren't _very_ fond to that job, are you Mr Potter?'_ Sensing his dilemma at answering, the Sorting Hat continued impatiently, _'Do not tire me with lies. I can see all your desires whether you like it or not_.'

'_Does Occulmency work in banishing you out of my head? Because you've got a thing coming if that were so-'_

'_Such a sharp tongue,'_ the Hat tsked. '_Nevertheless, I would advise you as I had done seven years ago, that you should follow your heart and not what the society expects of you.'_

'_It's not what the society expects of me,' _Harry argued.

'_But it is one of the reasons why you chose to be an Auror despite your fondness for _other_ areas. Ancient magic is a branch of magic that has been long be forgotten, yet if you put your heart to it, I am confident that your research will come to light.'_

'_Then you would realize that I'm not giving that up either.'_

'_But you are taking away such precious time, are you not?'_ the Hat said snidely from the back of his mind.

'_I will not change my mind. If there's nothing else-' _He made to pull the Hat off his head but it cried out suddenly.

'_A moment's wait, Mr Potter!'_ the Hat sighed. _'Even if you fail to reconsider your decision, I will still warn you. You do know of the impending war between Dumbledore and the rising Dark Lord, do you not?'_

'_I hardly think anyone doesn't,' _Harry said dryly but sat back down on his seat to listen.

'_Then understand that when power comes to play, you _can_ make a difference. And that difference you make will leave a mark within the war…" _the voice trailed off for a moment._ "Choose wisely for I cannot warn you enough of the plans surrounding you.'_

Harry paused, considering the words of the Sorting Hat. The Hat lived in Dumbledore's office and it would have an insight as to Dumbledore's thoughts, unless the Hat was deliberately planted by Dumbledore to sway him to their cause. It wasn't aplenty, but there had been rumors of Dumbledore recruiting talented students to join his organization which was focused to maintaining peace during war times.

And the Sorting Hat had just reaffirmed his suspicions. In fact, if he didn't know better, he would say that the impending war was as between Dumbledore and the rising Dark Lord as much as it was against Dumbledore and Riddle. Two immensely powerful and charismatic wizards with unsolvable differences was just a ticking bomb before either side snapped and he, according to the Hat, would be caught in-between.

Heart feeling heavy at the new revelations, Harry pulled the Hat off his head and stood up, handing it back to Dumbledore. Riddle watched him intently with narrowed eyes as he sat back down on the fluffy chair and waited for the Headmasters to speak.

"Harry," Dumbledore's old and tired voice sounded heavy as he surveyed him with somber blue eyes. "I cannot stress to you the importance of the words of the Sorting Hat, was there anything-"

"Skip to the specifics," Harry said impatiently, feeling too tired to deal with the Headmaster's grandfatherly ways right now. The Sorting Hat's parting sentences had given him more to think about. The Hat clearly knew something and seemed to insinuate that he would be an essential to the war… but for what? He wasn't outstanding in ways like Riddle and he didn't seek fame or glory like his schoolmates. There would be nothing that would attract him to either side of the war and it was more than likely that he would play neutral.

"I understand that you're feeling overwhelmed now Harry," the Headmaster tried again. Harry refrained himself from hexing the man, who clearly didn't get the meaning of skipping to the important details. He tensed for a moment then relaxed back to his seat, his eyes wandering over to Riddle whilst Dumbledore chattered on.

The man looked like an epitome of calmness, but there was a bored air surrounding him in waves. Harry leaned towards Riddle slightly, entranced by the calming waves of magic that the man exuded compared to the heavy and serious encompassing waves of Dumbledore. It was no wonder why so many people were taken in by the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. If he didn't know better, he could have been one of the students in his fan club…

He sighed heavily, eyelids drooping but Dumbledore continued on, until he felt a sharp poke in the sides of his ribs and snapped his eyes open.

Riddle was staring at him in amusement. Harry quickly looked down on himself and realized that he was leaning far too close to the man for comfort. Dumbledore cleared his throat slightly to recapture his lost attention.

"Harry my boy?" the voice was concerned.

Quickly moving away from Riddle, he turned back to the Headmaster, determinedly ignoring the smug looks that Riddle sent his way.

"Yes Professor?" he tried to sound attentive in order to divert the topic away from himself.

"He asked if you had any new ideas for career choices in addition to the ones you raised to Professor Flitwick in your fifth year," Riddle supplied, the smirk still gracing his features.

"A couple here and there," he replied noncommittally.

Dumbledore looked frustrated; he would be after all, with his continued half-responses even after an hour into their session. "And?" the man prodded.

He shrugged. "He offered a few Ministerial positions here and there but I wasn't really interested in them. Auror remains to be the choice the Sorting Hat gave, Riddle."

"Professor Riddle, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.

"Right, Professor Riddle. But if that were all-"

Riddle sneered. "Do you intend to wiggle yourself out of this session in every few sentences? Do not expect that I am pleased to be here either."

Harry huffed. "Your presence is less than desired, I assure you. And unless there is any outcome, I doubt this session is of any practical use, Professor," he added at the look on Dumbledore's face. The man was frowning and seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments before he spoke.

"Very well," Dumbledore said and Harry was surprised at Dumbledore's readiness to dismiss him. The man didn't seem all too agreeable to allow him free rein throughout the session after all.

As he made to stand, Dumbledore finished his sentence. "Professor Riddle may take your leave. I require a word with Mr Potter here."

Riddle's mood darkened instantly and Harry could feel the calm magic swirling around the man take a dive into an icy aura. When he spoke, his voice was cool and controlled. "Is there something I ought not to hear?" The tone was light but there was a menacing threat underlying.

Dumbledore's smile was grim as the two wizards stared each other down. "Nothing of that sort, Tom," his voice was quiet. "I merely require Harry's presence for another matter and I wouldn't like to hold you up."

Riddle looked as though he would very much not mind to be held up, but then his expression cleared in a moment and he nodded, standing up. "Very well," he said curtly and Harry glanced up at him. There was something within the man's eyes that seemed to set off warning bells in his head… Riddle was definitely plotting something. He couldn't let go so easily.

"Have a wonderful night, Professor," Harry chirped as Riddle swung open the door.

"Insolent brat," he heard Riddle hiss just as the door swung shut.

The change in atmosphere was highly apparent the moment Riddle vacated the room. Harry became alert instantly, his defenses guarded as he steeled himself for Dumbledore's real purpose for calling him. Even though most would call Riddle a more dangerous and seductive man, Harry felt more unsettled in Dumbledore's presence instead.

There was just something to the Headmaster that he couldn't put his finger to.

"Make yourself comfortable," Dumbledore invited calmly once an echoing silence settled upon the room. Harry shifted slightly in his seat, eyeing the old wizard.

Dumbledore looked as though he was considering how he should phrase his sentence when Harry decided to cut to the chase. "What is it that you wanted with me, Headmaster?"

"Harry… I don't know if you have ever heard from Sirius, but before Lily and James passed away, they were-"

"If you're going to talk about my parents, I suggest you save it," Harry said coolly, not bothering to be polite anymore.

"Listen me out first," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with authority and he surveyed Harry with serious blue eyes which made him want to curse the twinkling lights out of them. "Your parents were brave people, very brave people," he nodded impressively, mistaking Harry's bored expression for solemnity. "I am regretful to say that they died in the course of their duty, which I believe you have heard from Sirius before."

"That I have, but Sirius doesn't talk about these things often, if you get my drift."

Dumbledore shook his head slightly and Harry almost fell for his concerned look. _Almost_, if he didn't know better about the old man and the mysterious vibes he gave off.

"There's more to their deaths than what it seems, Harry. And I would not have disclosed this to you – oh, it was your parent's wish your for you to have a relatively normal childhood," Harry snorted at this point but the Headmaster ignored him. "But at this point of the war, I'm afraid I cannot hold back," Dumbledore settled back to his seat, watching him for his reaction.

There was a moment's pause and Harry's expression remained stoically blank.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore waved his wand majestically and flaming gold words appeared in the air. A golden phoenix was perched on top of the 'O' before they disappeared after a few long seconds. "Is an Order which I formed to resist Grindelwald's forces in the First War, and subsequently for the Second War which is on the verge of eruption now."

"I don't see how it relates to me," Harry said slowly, dreading Dumbledore's answer.

"Your parents were in this Order, Harry. They gave up their lives for this noble cause."

_They gave up their lives for this noble cause._ The words echoed heavily in his mind, refusing to go away, as if reminding him of their abandonment. Was this why his parents died? But Sirius had said that Pettigrew killed his parents out of jealousy. Could there have been more to the story? He wondered if his parents were killed in the Second War since they were never involved in the First War. His mind was reeling, but the truth was that the Second War never happened because the Dark Lord never really started the war. He had remained under cover even till now, whereby his identity was known only by the few who were bound by silence.

But Dumbledore. The old man was asking for _him_ to give up _his life_ fighting for a cause that _his parents abandoned him from._

"Is that what you want from me?" Harry said coldly. "My life bound to this Order of yours?"

"Harry, that's not what I meant-"

"So I _don't_ have to join the Order, do I?"

"No," Dumbledore corrected himself hastily. "I only meant your life bound to the Order is a _tad_ too strong a sentence to put this. I wanted to ask-"

"Don't you think it's time to listen to what others wanted for a change, Professor?" he added, glaring coldly at Dumbledore's wizened face.

"You must understand that the war with the uprising Dark Lord is not one to be taken lightly," Dumbledore said gravely, his hands twisting slightly as he paced around the room in agitation. "The Dark Lord is seductive and charming; he has several talented people on his side of the war, ready to lay their lives down for him if he so wishes. We need to combat him with our own talents and you are one of our assets, just like how your parents were. This you _must_ realize, Harry. The rising Dark Lord makes Grindelwald's First War look like child's play, and we need to be prepared."

Harry stood up, turning to face Dumbledore who was leaning out of the window, eyes staring far away.

"Is this what you called me for? You never really wanted me here for the Career Guidance," he deadpanned. "It was your excuse, and your moment of opportunity the moment Professor Riddle left. And he knew what you wanted," Harry added.

It all seemed so clear now – the underlying tension between Riddle and Dumbledore throughout the course of the talk, and later, Riddle's reluctance at leaving. He might have a vague idea of the Headmaster's motives before that, but Riddle had bloody known _exactly_ what Dumbledore was playing at. And he had refused to budge, though he relented, for motives Harry didn't know.

He heard Dumbledore sigh, but the man did not turn to face him. "I'm sorry I had to drag you into this. But you have to understand that all this is for the greater good. Your parents understood that and that's why they were willing to lay their lives down – for the sake of the Wizarding World. The war must be stopped."

"And you're asking me to be one of your warriors," he snorted.

Dumbledore's cloak swished as he turned, the lines on his face crinkling as he started pacing once more. "Is this why you're adamant to joining the Order of the Phoenix? Do you _blame_ the Order for the deaths of Lily and James?" the voice was incredulous; surprised.

Harry laughed, walking towards the far end of the room to put as much space there could be between him and Dumbledore. The Headmaster might be powerful, but he didn't understand people the way Riddle did and played on their weaknesses. "I don't," he said simply. "But I won't lay my life down. There is much to do."

"What can there be for a young boy like yourself, albeit talented? You are suited for the war. Your parents would have been proud of what of you," Dumbledore insisted.

He smiled lightly, thinking back at all the books filled with the different branches of magic… ancient magic, particularly. "You're wrong, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said quietly. "There is so much I don't know."

"Harry," the man pressed on. "Just think about the lives you could be saving. You are our top student; Hogwart's top students, unchallenged and only Professor Riddle and I have surpassed you decades ago. Your skills and talents could be put to such great use for the greater good!"

"Like I said, Professor, I live my life for myself," he said, watching in satisfaction as Dumbledore deflated slightly. "Now, if that were all…" he moved towards the door, hearing the soft murmuring of his name by Dumbledore.

"Your parents would have been disappointed in you," the man tried a final time as his fingers closed around the door knob.

They couldn't be. They were dead already.

"Goodnight, Professor," he said quietly and the door closed behind him.

"_He's got a point you know," a snide voice said from behind the door. "He thinks for himself. He isn't one of your little puppets, Dumbledore."_

* * *

><p>He stretched himself comfortably, ignoring the haziness in his mind that protested for sleep after staying up for three and close to four days. His legs were stretched out on his bed as he lay back down on his pillow, propped up on one arm as he eagerly flipped a page of his newest book that held accountable for his attraction and sleep loss.<p>

_It was rumored that Merlin died by his own hand, in the most cruel form of suicide. His magic was unable to withstand his inner conflict and emotions after his tragic love story with the Lady of the Lake (known commonly as Viviane) and turned against him. Instead of causing an explosion of power after suppressing it for years –like what history has recorded for Gwenyth the 2nd – all of Merlin's magic turned inwards against him. His heart turned to stone, but it was not just any other stone. It turned into the sapphire jewel, the exact color that Viviane's eyes were before they burned a deep violet. _

Harry paused at that page, before re-reading it again. He had spent the past few days reading the book on Merlin that he had borrowed shortly before his meeting with Dumbledore, and there were many new surprises at every chapter. But this was different. It was a complete spin-off from the fairytales of Merlin's Adventures he had known from a childhood.

Yet he didn't know if this was truly the real version of Merlin's death. By staff, by sword or by his own heart? If he were to find out the answer, he needed to verify the source of the book and do more in-depth research. Though, this sounded highly plausible. There was never any form of duel between Merlin and another witch or wizard; the man had simply ceased to exist. His body was never found and only his staff had been left behind. Had his heart, the sapphire jewel, too?

Love was powerful; powerful enough to cause such a manifestation, such a supernatural thing to happen even to one of the greatest wizards there were in time. But it was because Merlin was powerful that such a mystifying encounter could occur; normal witches and wizards simply did not have enough magic in them to cause this phenomenon.

Sighing heavily, he shut the text and rolled over the bed, wondering what to do next when he heard footsteps shuffling outside his bed. Irritated, he stood up and pulled open the curtains to reveal Anthony Goldstein who was holding a piece of parchment in his hands.

"What…?"

"Here," Goldstein pressed the piece of paper into his outstretched hands. "Professor Riddle told me to give this to you. He said that you should read it immediately."

Frowning, Harry opened the parchment to reveal Riddle's neat scrawl. He scanned through the words quickly and realized that Riddle had sent him for his detention. And he was expecting him to arrive in another eight minutes, or the detention would double.

Cursing fluently, Harry quickly grabbed his book bag and stuffed the book on Merlin into it before pushing past Goldstein and hurrying out of the common room. Trust Riddle to pull something like that on him the first time that they would be having detention together.

Together. Harry skidded to a stop just outside the Ravenclaw tower. He would be with Riddle in an enclosed room, and there was nowhere to hide if the man tried to do him harm. He probably was exaggerating, but there was _no_ way he could survive three hours with Riddle alone in a room without both themselves hurling verbal abuses.

Then again, why did Riddle choose to schedule detention with the man himself only after seven years? He had a hunch that it had something to do with the career conference the other day, especially the happenings after whereby Dumbledore had requested a private talk with him. It wasn't surprising that Riddle would be curious as to what the Headmaster had to say since the two were at opposite ends of a stick, always dancing around each other.

Sighing, Harry casted a tempus charm to find that he only had another five minutes after musing.

Now, what would Riddle do to him?

* * *

><p>"Pardon?" Harry asked incredulously at the thick book in front of him.<p>

He was currently sitting at the table opposite of Professor Riddle's, waiting for the man's instructions on his detention. Because he was late for the detention by _half_ a bloody minute, he had endured Riddle's lecture on the importance of time and punctuality for ten minutes, and how precious time was.

That was, until Harry helpfully reminded Riddle that he had just wasted ten minutes of the precious time in his life. He was expecting to get sent off to Filch' again, but instead, he wasn't asked to leave the room immediately. Riddle had only given him one cold glare before summoning a thick book off one of his numerous shelves.

"Read the book, chapters 1 to 5 and summarize them for me at the end of detention," Riddle replied curtly, his crimson eyes staring at him as though he was thick for having him repeat the instructions again.

"No toads? Or any cleaning to do? Just reading?" Harry blurted out, surprised. It wasn't like he minded reading… far from it, in fact, he loved it. But it seemed so unlike Riddle to let him off so easily for detention.

"Do I have to repeat myself once more?" the voice was annoyed. "Read the book and summarize it for me. You will leave only when you have finished reading." There was no doubt that Riddle would carry out his threat.

Glaring, Harry reached out for the book and settled back comfortably in his seat. On the table were a quill, ink and a parchment which he assumed were for him to jot down the notes. He read the introduction quickly and was surprised for the second time of the day that the book was on advanced dueling for the offensive and defensive.

Frowning, he wondered why he was asked to read this book especially when the Dueling Competition was nearing. Surely Riddle would want to have one of his little group win the competition and do him proud? Why would he want to let Harry read a book that wasn't available at the library and give him an added advantage?

The man's motives were strange, Harry concluded, pausing from his reading. Riddle definitely wasn't one to do things on a whim, so the man had something up from his sleeve. He eyed the man cautiously over the large book to find red eyes staring back.

"Is there a problem, Mr Potter?"

"No," Harry darted his head down and resumed reading, trying to block out Riddle's presence, but there were times where he felt eyes upon him and that unsettled him deeply. The lingers of the stares seemed a tad too long than it should have been for the professor to check if he was dreaming off… but then again, Harry reassured himself, it was no wonder Riddle would want to monitor him, especially with his track record of dreaming in classes.

Two hours later, Harry yawned and stretched his arms, having finally finished reading the long chapters. He glanced down at the parchment he had been scribbling on and noted it to be fully filled with bits of notes here and there and felt a sense of satisfaction. Well, even if it was a _little_ messy, it was nothing he couldn't handle _and_ he was used to it. Only Riddle would feel irked looking at that sheet of parchment which had lines drawn all over the place.

"Done already?" There was surprise in Riddle's tone at his efficiency. The man was now looking at him, having been alerted by Harry's sudden shift in posture.

He passed the parchment of paper over to Riddle. "The summaries of all the five chapters. I'm afraid it's not too neat, but –"

"I thank you for stating the obvious," Riddle interrupted smoothly. "And see that you have mastered the theory aspects of advanced dueling very well, particularly on the offensive and construction of various unconventional magic."

"That is a nice compliment, Professor, but –"

"However, I wonder if your practical approach is as powerful," Riddle frowned, eyebrows creasing as he looked at the paper, then back up at him. Harry gritted his teeth at the hint of insult. "One would assume so, seeing that an Auror is your desired profession."

The man stood up now, and paced around the office. Harry stood still, staring at the empty spot that Riddle had sat moments ago.

"But there is another reason to assume rightly," Riddle continued. Harry tensed slightly, unsure as to what would be happening next. He was unprepared for the voice that appeared next to his ear seconds later, having not heard Riddle's quiet footsteps approach him. "Dumbledore seems to think so too," Riddle said, leaning down towards his ear and Harry could feel the man's breath tickling his ear, making him uncomfortable. He was never one for physical contact and quickly shifted away, but the hand pressing down on the junction between his neck and shoulder caused him to stop.

"Professor –" Harry started.

Now he knew why Riddle had scheduled this detention… he wanted to know what Dumbledore had requested him to stay for. He felt insulted that that was the only reason for the Professor to schedule detention with the man himself only after six years… as if everything was designed to suit Riddle's purpose. But that was true, to some extent, for things did revolve around Riddle – people, time, money and power. They all did.

"Why don't you show me what you have?" Riddle offered and that was all the warning Harry had before he was roughly pushed out of his chair, a wand pointing at his throat. Riddle's lips quirked into an inviting smile. Their eyes locked and Harry's wand was out in another second, mirroring Riddle's. Blindly, he casted his first spell in Riddle's direction and watched as the stunning spell flew out of range, behind Riddle's back.

He turned and met with a predatory smile – he had never seen the man grin so widely. With barely a moment's pause, Harry ducked under as a violet spell came whizzing pass the top of his head. Growling, he rolled over to fire more spells at Riddle. If Riddle wanted their detention this way, then so be it.

He struggled to stay balanced, his body swaying slightly from the late nights up and fought to keep himself awake. Chancing a glance at the ornamental clock hung high up on the wall, he realized that it was way past detention. Well, at least it was a weekend tomorrow and he could sleep in then practice for the Dueling Competiton the following Monday.

Eyes narrowing in concentration, Harry dodged around more of Riddle's hexes, alternating between shield charms and physical movement. His tired body was protesting against his strenuous movement but he paid it no heed and continued to fire curses when he had the opportunity. Riddle on the other hand, seemed to be playing with him. Given his tired body, he was sure that the professor could overpower him quite easily.

Slightly out of breath after twenty long minutes, his eyes darted around the room. Noting Riddle to be a fair distance away from him, Harry quickly summoned up his magic and tried to cast one of the ancient magic he learned a short while ago. The curse would cause the opponent to have hallucinations of the person they treasured most in place of him, effectively turning the tables of the duel.

"_Cinnatia!" _he cried, wand slashing out in the full rune circle movement, praying that the spell worked. After all, it was only dummies he had tried on, not a real human being.

To his surprise, Riddle allowed the spell to hit him. He had expected the professor to duck, or put up some sort of a shield but he seemed to be challenging him for the spell to work, as though he already knew the effects of the _Cinnatia_ Curse.

A bright orange light engulfed Riddle's body for two seconds before it faded and dimmed, to only a small glow at the edges of his arms and neck. Harry held his breath, eager to see how the spell had worked and took a step forward to the now dazed looking Riddle.

He examined the professor cautiously, careful to maintain a small distance lest the man reacted. But it seemed as though his worries were unduly for Riddle looked like he was now seeing him as the person he treasured most, and wouldn't be likely to hurt him… would he?

Though, Harry paused, steps from Riddle and considered. Why had the man allowed himself to be attacked? It wasn't beyond Riddle to conjure a shield powerful enough to stop the effects of the _Cinnatia_ Curse. And he had to admit, he was more than curious as to who Riddle would be hallucinating now… He wondered briefly if it would be Draco, then decided that given the over-inflated pride the man possessed, Riddle would most probably be seeing himself. All the better, Harry mused. There was _no_ way Riddle would voluntarily curse himself.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry failed to notice a body-bind spell fly towards him from Riddle's outstretched wand. Half turned, Harry's eyes widened in surprise and a cry of outrage left him before he fell to the floor, unable to move. Glaring, he watched as Riddle strutted forward confidently, as though he was never under the effects of the curse.

"An interesting curse, the _Cinnatia_ Curse," Riddle said smugly, leaning down so that they were to eye level. "A curse that would have worked on most men, but I confess myself to not be like most men…" Riddle trailed a finger down his cheek and Harry struggled futilely to escape the man's touch. Bloody hell, what was with Riddle and physical contact today? The professor looked as though he highly enjoyed Harry's internal struggles at being forcefully kept there, subjected to his merry, but he supposed that was what he got for stepping on his professor's toes for the past seven years.

"Nevertheless, if you're curious," Riddle continued, "the spell did work on me, despite your uncertainty."

Harry's eyes would have widened in surprise if they could at Riddle's confession. His mind was in a whirlwind, racing against time. If the spell had worked, then why hadn't Riddle been affected by it?

It seemed as though Riddle knew his unspoken question. The man stood up and paced around the room, taking his time. "The _Cinnatia_ Curse does not work on a Master Occulmens," there was a smug edge in the voice and Harry huffed internally. If he had known… but he had always assumed Riddle was a Master _Legilimens. _He hadn't heard of anyone who was adept at being both.

"And secondly, I possess exceptional self-control. Your spell failed to work on me because I am not a dreamer, Mr Potter. I did see who was the most important to me," Riddle got round saying 'treasured', Harry noted subconsciously. "And though surprised I was by the image conjured, it was not enough to disrupt my mind."

_Ah_. That explained the initially dazed look Riddle had upon being subjected to the curse. He had not been expecting whoever that appeared in his stead.

Turning his back, Harry watched as Riddle settled himself back at his table, before whispering the counter curse for the body-bind spell to release him. He struggled to his feet in exhaustion, with the full force of the energy he used during the duel and the nights spent reading hurtling down on him. His wand snapped into his hand at once, but the Deputy Headmaster had only laughed condescendingly.

"Put that wand down, child," the man chided. Harry's eyes narrowed at being called a child and Riddle chuckled merrily. "If I had wished to do anything, I would have done so earlier, when you're lying as still as a dead log."

Harry ignored the suggestive tone. "Logs are still whether dead or alive, Professor," he retorted, albeit slightly sleepily.

"Your insolence needs to be cured -"

"May I leave now, Professor? Detention is over." He cleared his throat and waited for Riddle to respond, praying that the man would release him now.

He was already fighting to clear his mind from the drowsiness, and his eyes were threatening to flutter shut… He refused to hold onto Riddle's desk to stabilize himself, lest the man sneered at his weakness again, and chose to stare determinedly at the portrait of Slytherin on the wall to stop seeing doubles in his vision.

Riddle, being the man he was, made things difficult for him as usual. "And why is that so, Mr Potter?" the man sneered. "You look like you're barely keeping yourself on your feet. If exhaustion was your reason for me to let you off now, I will, but you would have to ask me for it."

_Horrible, horrible bastard. _"I am not tired," Harry protested against the will of his body, feeling the world start to spin softly… and strangely enough, a light smile started to form at the edges of his lips.

"And pray tell, what is this when your vision is barely focused and you're swaying as you stand? The duel has weakened you and you will bend your neck before I allow your absence…"

But he did not hear the rest of Riddle's monologue. Eyes fluttering close at a long last, Harry slumped to the floor with a soft thud as the world shifted and faded black. His last thought was what Riddle would make of him curled up at the foot of his table, but he was too far gone to care as he drifted off, happily asleep…


	5. Flashing Lights

**{A/N} **Title credit to JYJ's The Beginning. To those of you who asked about Harry's friendless/antisocial nature, it is the character that I envisioned for him, because contrary to the Harry in canon who was starved for friendship and acceptance, this Harry here is independent, in a way like Tom Riddle. But while Tom Riddle keeps up relationships for his own personal gains, the difference is Harry does not care to. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5 <strong>

"_Bloody hell_," Harry hissed savagely as he tugged the covers over his head, trying to snuggle deeper into the comforting folds of the bed and get back to sleep. The overarching light that was streaming in through the curtains did nothing to soothe his pounding head and only served to irritate him further.

"Brat." A familiar, snarky voice which he could not put his fingers on hovered from above him. Harry growled, his hands clasping and twisting the comforter tighter within his fists. Didn't his roommates know better than to wake him up when he wanted to be left alone? And then again, there was the question of why his protective enchantments around his bed had failed, but that answer could wait until later, when he was wide awake…

There was a vicious tug as hands pulled harshly the comforter away from him, leaving him all but exposed to the sunlight. Furious and a little disorientated, Harry sat up straight in a huff and glared at the offending man while combing a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to straighten it.

"Took you long enough to wake up. Now get off my bed," Riddle snapped, tugging on his arm to pull him off the luxurious bed. Harry blinked for a few moments as he took in his surroundings… all that were mostly unfamiliar and stranger-like to him, though oddly comforting for he felt right at home.

Where was he? He wondered, mind sluggish as he fought to get up from the bed, though he was unsuccessful with the covers tangling up his limbs. Giving up and slumping back to the bed to wait for the dizziness to pass, he stared into Riddle's eyes, suddenly comprehending that his Defense Professor was standing in front of _him_ while he _slept. _

Seconds later, recollections of the previous night flooded back to him and he could feel his cheek heat up in sheer embarrassment for collapsing in front of Riddle, of all people. It wasn't like he was bothered what the man would think of it, but he certainly didn't appreciate that spectacular show of blatant weakness.

With the newfound knowledge of the owner whose bed he had comfortably slept on in mind, Harry quickly leapt out of it and attempted to straighten his robes to be more decently attired. Riddle though, had only snorted at his attempts, watching him intently with those piercing eyes before leading him away from the bedroom and into the main area where he worked.

"What am I doing here?" Harry asked once they were out of the bedroom, more to break the silence than anything else. A glance to the clock on the wall told him that breakfast was starting soon.

"What were you doing here?" Riddle's voice was incredulous as he stopped to face him.

"It was touching of you to let me rest on your bed," Harry rephrased quickly, a smirk now on his lips as he saw Riddle frown at the choice of his words. "I would have thought…" his voice trailed off, eyes falling to the couch in the living area.

"That you would have ended up on the couch, and better yet, remained on the floor?" Riddle finished for him. "I see no significance of leaving such a weak being through a bout of torture on the floor. No doubt, you look as though you might require a visit to the Hospital Wing had you spent the night on the floor, tempting as it might sound." The voice was darkly humorous, and everything that he had expected from the man's snarky tongue.

"I was occupied with things." He had no idea why he felt the need to justify himself. At least he would have to make the point that he didn't make collapsing a habit.

"Really, I should have not expected anything better from you, Mr Potter," Riddle strode forward to his desk, but did not sit. "Your knowledge astounds me, but as to that, I would have to ask _you. _What _exactly _were you doing that kept you up so late, and subsequently, exhaustion?"

"Reading," he shrugged offhandedly. "You know how things get when you read, Professor. Sometimes you don't even notice the time, and when you do, you're unable to put the text down." He casted a glance towards his bag where the _Adventures of Merlin_ lay inside.

"Well I hardly think that there's anything you have to read that would keep you up on several nights on an end," Riddle said scathingly, as though he were reading fairytales. "Unless of course, they are of restricted material…" Harry didn't have to be a genius to know where Riddle was leading off to.

"It's not illegal," he snapped and was tempted to add that it was a far cry as to the darker aspects of magic that Riddle taught and practiced in his special group gatherings.

"Then pray tell, what would hold your interests so?"

Casting another look at the professor, Harry thought that the man seemed unlikely to relent. He wondered though, why Riddle would be so interested into the book he was reading about, though there was a possibility that the man wanted to know where his preference for magic lay… for the dark, or for the light arts?

Deciding that it wouldn't do too much of a harm to tell Riddle, Harry said, "Adventures on Merlin. You know… the book on the biography of Merlin?" He assumed that Riddle had prowled the restricted section of the library as he did in the school days and chanced upon that particular book as well.

A slightly surprised expression shifted in Riddle's features, but it smoothed out a split second later to one of faint interest. "Really?" the man questioned lightly. "Have you perhaps read up to the part about the death of Merlin, and the _supernatural_ events that followed?" the voice was as casual as it could have gotten, but there was a tinge of genuine curiosity underlying.

"Well, I have, actually," Harry frowned. Riddle had a pleased expression which made his heart skip a beat, but he attributed it to the fact that there was actually someone who appreciated magic like he did. Without waiting for the cue to elaborate, he continued on, feeling happier now. "I've touched upon briefly about the Crystal Heart of Merlin and its origins, but I have not gone further. There have been speculations I've read that the Heart of Merlin possesses immense _emotional_ power, but there never have been concrete evidence as to the exact sort of power it holds since the jewel disappeared centuries ago…"

"_Fascinating,_" Riddle purred from above him. Harry, startled at the sudden close proximity of the professor, moved to put more distance between themselves. Only, Riddle's hand was as fast as the serpents', quickly clasping on his shoulders to prevent him from moving. A head shorter than the man, Harry peered upwards to meet the deep crimson of Riddle's eyes, which strangely drew him closer…

"And they say great minds think alike_, such an unlikely trait even for you, child,"_ Riddle hissed, slipping into parseltongue. The voice was soft and seductive, drawing him closer; he found himself trapped within the heavy atmosphere that Riddle had manipulated to. Dazed, he wondered if this was how men fell to the charms of Veela. Were they as helpless to their bending and will as he was now? He shook his head angrily, trying to get himself out of his stupor. With stupendous strength, he put his hands on Riddle's chest and pushed away.

The space apart cleared his foggy mind and he shook his head slightly, thankful for the gap.

"Using a muggle quote now, Professor?" he drawled once he had regained his senses. Trying to garner the remaining pride he had left after falling over Riddle's charms, Harry continued to poke fun at the man to draw the attention away from himself. "Seemed quite unlike you, but you were never one for normality-"

"Child-" Riddle hissed, twisting and grabbing one of his arms to pull him back, flush towards his chest. "Don't tempt me," the man warned, but there was a light within his eyes that left Harry intrigued.

He blinked childishly before grinning widely. "Never thought of that, Professor," he said in all seriousness and freed himself from Riddle's hold. "Now though, I must get going… to ah- practice for the Dueling Competition. Wouldn't want to make myself a spectacular fool, would I?"

With practiced ease, he swung his book bag over his shoulder; ignoring the professor entirely, he moved towards the door when the man sounded from behind him.

"And Mr Potter?" Riddle was back to formalities now; it was as though their previous episodes never existed and Harry knew that things were back to the way they were for the past seven years. "Your next detention will be on the evening after the Dueling Competition."

"Is there anything else, Professor?"

Riddle stared, long and hard before he spoke. "Yes, bring along your book on Merlin's Adventures. If there is nothing else, you may go."

Puzzled, Harry allowed his legs to guide him out of the Professor's room.

* * *

><p>"Do you reckon it's going to be an individual duel or a group duel? I wouldn't fancy having a one-up with Malfoy, rotten luck it is to be paired with someone that good," a short and chubby Hufflepuff gossiped from behind Harry's back.<p>

The class was standing in a line outside Riddle's classroom while they waited for their favourite professor to show up. It was two minutes before lessons started, but everyone knew well to arrive earlier, either to impress or to stay out of his less-than-positive attention.

"I dunno do I?" another Hufflepuff grumbled. "But I expect I wouldn't be able to get in, either way…" the girl looked crestfallen and sullen.

"Oh, you never know. If you were in a group duel with Malfoy, or any of those in Riddle's club, you have a fair chance," the chubby boy encouraged, though he did not look very sure.

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll destroy me along with the rivals in the duel," the Hufflepuff said with venom that surprised Harry, given the sweet and carefree nature of Hufflepuffs in general. He soon understood why with the girl's next bemoan. "If I win the Competition, Professor Riddle will definitely notice me and I'll _defiantly _get to be in his club…"

_Girls._

"I think I stand a better chance now," another Hufflepuff boy piped out.

_And boys._ Basically, everyone in Riddle's fan club had an unhealthy obsession with the man the same way males acted around Veelas. A striking comparison, Harry mused, given the true vindictive nature of both the Veelas and what he suspected of Riddle beneath his façade.

Moments later, footsteps echoed as a tall figure approached the classroom. The students immediately clambered over one another to greet the professor as they did for every lesson, and Riddle only reacted by waving his wand languidly. The heavy oak door swung open magically and the student fell into a straight order, walking into the classroom without pushing each other, for they had been warned before to maintain order.

Harry snorted. All the students were afraid of Riddle the same way they feared Snape, only, they did it because they didn't want to fall into their professor's bad graces. Forever hoping that Riddle would someday notice them and their impressive antics in class seemed to be the goals for the majority of the students in their seven years of Hogwarts…

Slinking into his seat gracefully, Harry made to pull out his textbooks when Riddle silenced the class with another majestic wave of his hand.

"I require your complete and undivided attention."

Harry took it as the cue to put his books back into his bag and sat up straighter. He had an inkling where this was going to lead, especially with the Dueling Competition commencing tomorrow…

And he was right.

"As I have informed you days ago, the details of each round of the Dueling Competition would be released a day prior to it. The time has come, for the first round would commence tomorrow at the Great Hall. The four hour timeslot after breakfast will be cleared for all seventh years and you are to report punctually or face disqualification," Riddle said, his eyes surveying each of the class slowly.

Students immediately sat up straighter and puffed out their chests in confidence.

"Now for the first round," Riddle clasped his hand and began pacing in front of his table. "It will be individualized duel. That is to say, you will rely on yourself alone and it is a test of your skills." Several groans met his words, mostly from Hufflepuff girls. A smirk graced Riddle's lips as he continued, savoring the impact of his words. "If you had been listening in my classes, you will do well in this competition, fret not."

There was a long and heavy silence as the class took in Riddle's words. The students were at opposite ends of each other: some looked excited and confident of themselves, but most of them looked ill and downright nervous at the prospect of having a one-on-one duel.

"Professor Riddle, who are our dueling opponents?" a frantic Ravenclaw shouted from behind Harry. "Do we get to choose who we duel?" the Ravenclaw continued absurdly as renewed excited murmurs filled the classroom; students started discussing the possibilities of a fixed match and galleons were going to be exchanged then and there.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Patil," Riddle drawled and the hubbub subsided. "The pairings of the Dueling Competition has been finalized and randomly assigned by the Sorting Hat. There will be no further changes, mutual swop or not."

Protests immediately sounded but Riddle quickly cured that with one sweeping glance around the class; the students seemed to remember their places instantly, and nodded along with the professor, all thoughts of a protest forgotten.

"Now," Riddle continued, unaffected by the proceedings of the class. He waved his wand and another parchment leapt of his desk to land his hand; he unfurled the scroll slowly, aware of the tension of the class. "As this is a Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Defense lesson, I will only read out the names of the relevant pairings in our classroom, that is to say, pairings consisting of at least one Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. A Gryffindor-Slytherin match would not be announced here."

Everyone leaned forward slightly, and even Harry felt slightly lightheaded. Who would the Sorting Hat match him with? What did the Sorting Hat think of him after their last encounter…? His mind scanned through the list of possible candidates before rejecting them one by one. After all, the range was too broad and Riddle never mentioned anything about sorting by caliber or results, so he could be paired with basically anyone…

Though, preferably not one from his house.

"The first pair: Padma Patil and Pavarti Patil," Riddle announced and the class started chattering away with the new gossip. Harry resisted the smirk that was showing on his face – trust the Sorting Hat to pull that pairing out by deliberately putting the twin sisters on different ends of the stick. Rather cunning, if he thought about it actually, especially after witnessing the grim look on Padma's face.

The list went on and on and the class with met with several more groans and uncertainty, though there were a few students who had excited grins on their faces at having picked an easy opponent. A few more interesting pairings left him snorting, as he considered the disastrous possibilities of the match.

"Harry Potter," Harry gave a start when his name was announced. His eyes found Riddle's almost immediately and the man fixed him with a strong glare which made his mind replay the scene in the professor's room, where he had met with a similar gaze. "Paired with Hermione Granger of Gryffindor."

_Right._ He thought. Karma had a way to getting him, he supposed. He was paired with Gryffindor Granger, the one who always shot suspicious looks along his way when he daydreamed in Riddle's class, and who gave him looks of superiority – as if she were better – every time she answered a question correct in class. She had a thing against him, people knew. They might not know he was the object of her grudge, but almost all the Hogwarts population knew that Granger's frantic late nights at the library was because of her determination to be Hogwart's top student.

She usually came in third, more often than second behind Draco. That had infuriated her to no end, though Harry had no idea why he bore the brunt of her discontent instead of Draco; they were the ones who were forever competing against each other for second place.

And since the Gryffindors and Slytherins had lessons with Riddle before the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Harry assumed that Granger knew of the pairings already and would be off to the library the second they had a free period to double up on the tricks she had up her sleeve. While he was sure that Granger specialized in theoretical and not practical magic, she was one of the stronger opponents Hogwarts could offer, given her vast knowledge on magic (all from her memory, of course).

"Settle down," Riddle said after he was done with the announcing of pairings. Excited students immediately filed back to their seat obediently and gave the man their rapt attention. "We will be taking a short break from our usual lessons today and move onto Dueling which we will be covering in the later part of the year. This is to better prepare you for your Dueling Competition, as without a doubt, there will be students who have not yet practice the proper Dueling stance."

"There's a Dueling stance?" Hannah Abbott whispered loudly and the girls all around her sniggered. Riddle paid her no heed and instead, banished all the tables and chairs of the classroom to the side, creating a large space in the middle. Students shrieked and scrambled out of their seats which were bent on tipping them over as they raced towards the sidelines.

Riddle spoke once the students had settled down in a neat semi-circle around him. "Now, pay heed closely for all blunders tomorrow will not be taken lightly…" The voice was low, but the threat was clear, showing the dangerous side of Riddle underneath the charming façade.

By the looks of it, this was going to be one _very_ long lesson…

* * *

><p>Harry glanced up to the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. It was cloudy; a perfect, cheery day for the start of the Hogwarts Dueling Championships. Ironically, he preferred thunderstorms where the weather was cool and the shadows danced within the small glimpse of light from lightning bolts.<p>

"Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick…" Terry Boot moaned loudly, three seats down the table. The redhead was pale in the face and he was clutching his stomach is agony.

The rest of the Ravenclaws sniggered at the poor boy who immediately dashed off to the nearest washroom to empty the contents of his stomach, though the rest of them were more or less in a similar state as Terry.

The first round of the Dueling Competition would begin in another hour, after breakfast. The seventh-year Ravenclaws were grouped together in the Great Hall, either discussing battle strategies or bemoaning about the partners that they were matched with. Interestingly, most of them were paired with a Slytherin. The few that were paired with Hufflepuffs looked slightly more relaxed, for they could at least be assured to come out of the competition with all their limbs intact. The same could not be said for those paired with Slytherins; Slytherins were notorious for their Dueling strategies which left their opponents with no mercy.

Eyes scanning through the crowd, Harry caught sight of Gryffindor Granger several tables down. She was seated with her friends – a group of seventh-year girls who looked excited as ever when compared to the ill faces of his Ravenclaw year mates. Granger on the other hand, had a thick book that Harry vaguely recognized as _12 Dueling Techniques_. She was evidently trying to cram all the information she could during the last possible minute…

Suddenly, her eyes lifted and she caught sight of him staring at her. Tensing, she nodded at him, before offering a half-smile uncertainly, as if wishing for a good match later. Harry noticed the faint lines around her forehead, and knew that she was stressed in having landed with him as a partner, given his grades all around Hogwarts.

Pity, Harry acknowledged as he nodded back curtly, before turning away. There was a fairly high chance that Granger could make it to the final round if she had been paired with any other Ravenclaw, given her vast knowledge of curses, which he unfortunately surpassed… not that he was sorry for it. Knowledge was everything, and even Walburga Black –Sirius's whiny banshee of a mother hanging on the walls of the Black Manor– agreed with him whenever he was seen with a book clasped tightly in his hands.

There was a loud screeching and the Ravenclaws peered up to see a white owl swoop down towards their house table. Harry instantly recognized the owl as Hedwig, which was the owl Sirius had bought for him when he started his first year at Hogwarts. Stretching out his hand, he allowed Hedwig to perch herself on him as she clucked her beak and held out the letter tied onto her.

Chuckling slightly, Harry fed her a bit of his toast and set about untying the letter. Instantly, he saw the Black family crest etched onto the expensive-looking parchment and knew that the letter was from Sirius. Hedwig hooted loudly before soaring off, presumably to hunt for a rat or two.

Seeing that the Ravenclaws had gotten over the small disturbance and were back to discussing about the upcoming matches, Harry quickly unfurled his godfather's script.

_Hello Harry,_

_I have heard about the Dueling Competition that Hogwarts has organized. Are you feeling up to it, or are your nerves rattled now? If Hedwig is as fast as she normally is, this letter should reach you just before the first round of your competition. Do us proud and display the Potter-Black power to your opponents! (Unless it's a girl of course, but that is a different matter.) _

Harry snorted quietly at this point, having imagined the way that his godfather would have said the words which he wrote. Typical of Sirius, he thought, a small smile now on his lips. Sirius was always carefree and cheerful in contrast to his serious and more sullen demeanor.

_It seems to me that both the Ministry and Hogwarts are in an uproar, though Hogwarts' is with an exciting festival. There looks to be some sort of mystery surrounding the Unspeakables, from the way that they're acting. I mean, they hardly ever tell the public what they're up to down in the depths of the Ministry, but they appear to be even more secretive than usual. I barely see any sign of them after you left for school, and it has been week since the start of Hogwarts. I reckon they're up to something… but who knows? Rumor has it that they're preparing for a shift in deployment, though I doubt so. From their secrecy, they just might be smuggling the next secret weapon for the war, or something of that sort. Keep that from Dumbledore though; he doesn't like me going around and saying things about the war. He prefers to keep the public ignorant since he has no concrete proof as to who the Dark Lord is, even though it is apparent that he has his suspicions (which are usually uncannily correct). _

_In other aspects… Molly and Arthur have invited me to their house for Christmas, and here's an extended invitation to you, if you're free to make it. You can always ignore ginger-head there (you know who I mean). _

_With heartfelt love from the very bottom of my bottomless heart, _

_Sirius_

Frowning at the part where Sirius wrote about the Ministry, Harry re-read his godfather's words absentmindedly, trying to see what he had been trying to say. Although Sirius had always filled him in on the interesting bits of gossips at the Auror Department and the Ministry of Magic, they were usually harmless facts that would be published in the next issue of Witches' Weekly. This though, appeared to be top-_secret_.

His eyebrows creased in worry. If it were true that the Department of Mysteries were planning something in secret, then it wasn't wise for his godfather to arouse his curiosity. Merlin knew that Sirius could never let go once he stumbled onto something interesting. Cringing, Harry remembered the time in fifth year when his godfather insisted to know who his crush was… and he had made up a muggleborn witch, red-head, just like his mother.

But back to the matter at point, who knew what the Unspeakables were up to? He didn't like the idea of being kept out of the loop that surrounded the Department of Mysteries, but he accepted that it wasn't for him to interfere with. Only, he hoped that Sirius would do the same and not attract unwanted attention to himself by going around and hounding Unspeakables for the recent happenings. Merlin knew what the Unspeakables would do to protect their secrets… He wasn't blind; for the Unspeakables to remain in the shadows throughout the history in the Ministry of Magic, there was bound to have dirty shadings behind the public's eyes…

"Attention please," Professor McGonagall's loud voice which was magnified by the Soronus charm resounded from the front of the Great Hall. Heads swiveled to her direction; she spoke when she commanded the full attention of the seventh-year students. "Please file out neatly as a line to the Entrance Hall while Professor Riddle and I set up the Dueling Arena. Now," she added when the students did not shift.

"But Professor, our breakfast!" Red-head Weasley exclaimed loudly from the Gryffindor table, his goblet brandished in his hands as he flailed wildly, to the amusement of the Slytherins who sniggered.

"Enough, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall snapped. "It will do you good to eat less before the actual dueling lest you empty the contents of your stomach."

Weasley blanched.

"Now, if there are no further interruptions…" The students stood up and took her words as the cue to leave the Great Hall. Folding the letter from Sirius, Harry kept it in the pocket of his robes as he took a last swig of water and followed the crowd out of the Great Hall and into the adjacent Entrance Hall.

From the Entrance Hall, he could see the remaining students hopping over the benches and chattering excitedly as they moved away. At the far end stood the Professors; Professor Riddle and McGonagall were engaged in a serious conversation, presumably about the match. At last, when the last of the students cleared the hall, Riddle moved forward to take charge.

Watching intently, Harry saw Riddle raise his wand majestically as he twirled it in a half-circle. His lips were still, showing that it was a non-verbal charm. Almost immediately, the four grand tables of the different houses rose along with the benches and filed themselves neatly at the sides of the Great Hall.

Several awe-struck sighs resounded from the crowd as they watched Riddle's amazing spell work at having single handedly lifted all the ancient furniture of Hogwarts. But Riddle was not done; with another wave of his wand, there was a bright, shimmering light before a large circle platform rose from the floor to about a meter in height, spanning almost the entire width of the Great Hall. As the light cleared, Harry saw that it was the standard arena for dueling.

The other professors – McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape – stepped forward to join Riddle. All of them were spaced evenly apart, surrounding the dueling arena. Their wands were outstretched and with a silent count, their eyes closed and a thin golden light emitted from their wands, crisscrossing repeatedly over the arena to form a golden protection, which he recognized as the barrier to protect bystanders from wayward curses.

Minutes later, the Professors were done with their spell work and the golden sphere faded slowly, before becoming invisible. Professor Sprout then climbed the small steps and stood on the platform, casting spells at various angles towards the other professors. None of the spells were able to go through the barrier and the professors were satisfied enough with the spell work to call the students back.

Shuffling forward, the seventh-years stood together as a group as the Professors addressed them from atop the Dueling Arena. Harry thought that Riddle rather fancied having the students craning their necks to look at him, to feed his overly egoistic pride.

"I'm sure that all of you know of your respective partners?" Riddle began and eyes immediately darted around the crowd as each student sought out their partners. "We will begin the match in a pre-fixed order, which is to say, the order in which your names were given out." Harry frowned; when Riddle had announced his partner, he was one of the last few, which meant that he would be Dueling in the later than most students. "There are a total of twenty-one pairings and each duel will take approximately five to ten minutes to finish, depending on your capabilities. Any questions?"

A loud murmur ran through the crowd as students started discussing left and right. Harry caught sight of Draco, who was looking moderately relaxed as he hovered at the back with his friends, all of whom looked confident but slightly pale.

"Professor, what if the duel ends with a draw?" Harry didn't have to turn to know that the voice belonged to Granger, though he was rather amused. If Granger was hoping to end the duel in a draw, then it was rather unlikely. His lips twisted in a grimace as he imagined being on the same level as her… for all the training that he had put himself through, he definitely expected himself to do better.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward to answer her question, but Riddle drawled from the side, "I assure you, Ms Granger, that it is an unlikely possibility." When Granger looked as though she might pressed on that possibility, Riddle continued, "Nevertheless, if the duel does in did end in a draw after the stipulated time of ten minutes, both contestants-"

"Would be accepted?" Granger exclaimed eagerly, looking relieved.

"Ms Granger!" barked Professor McGonagall and Granger had the decency to look down, now horrified at interrupting Riddle.

"Quite the contrary," Riddle chirped, a smirk on his face as he turned to stare at Harry directly in the eye. "Both contestants who failed to leave their mark will be disqualified. The rules are simple – a maximum of twenty-one students from twenty-one pairings will move onto round two. It does not matter if there are less students than the maximum amount."

Silence met his words; McGonagall cleared her throat to recapture the student's lost attention.

"If there are no further questions, then we will begin." Unrolling the large scroll, she read out the names of the first pairing which consisted of the Patil twins. Nervous, they took uneasy steps to the Dueling Arena. The taller of the two looked as though she might faint from the elevated platform and Harry immediately knew that her disadvantage put her at the lesser end.

Minutes passed as the individual pairings dueled, with the students watching and cheering them on. Most of the pairs dueled in a boring, simple fashion that held no excitement, while others were more spectacular. Pansy Parkinson, who had been up against Daphne Greengrass, used a variety of _tools_ during the duel which she had conjured. The students watched in amusement as hair curlers and makeup sets flew towards Greengrass, though there was a pleasant Slytherin surprise enclosed: the powder within the makeup set did have a slightly dazed effect on Greengrass, who only managed to win by a narrow margin when she struggled on and caught Parkinson unawares.

Other duels included Draco's with an unknown Gryffindor girl. As expected, the Malfoy Heir soared in the duel and it ended quickly, in less than a minute after a strong stunning spell engulfed the girl in a bright crimson light. The Gryffindors were disappointed and quick to protest, but Draco in all his glory had only smirked at them before swaggering arrogantly back to the hoard of Slytherins who were quietly congratulating him. And like the previous time, there was an affirmed nod from Riddle at Draco's performance.

Bored at the current duel consisting of two Hufflepuffs, Harry turned to survey the crowd. The professors looked stern, maintaining a blank mask without any favoritism but he could tell that most of them looked slightly mortified by the way the duel was progressing – simple tickling spells as though they were afraid to hurt each other.

The previous high excitement of the students had long dulled with the increasingly frustrating matches and they were now in little groups, conversing with each other either on their own duels or the upcoming ones. The only exception was Granger, who was frantically reading a book, trying to cram in newest hexes and jinxes in the last few minutes, having been told that a draw led to disqualification. Harry snorted quietly, admiring her determination, but really… they were on different levels.

Merlin, was he starting to sound as arrogant as Riddle? But then again, most people knew that Granger was all about theory, and not the practical application..

"Hey Harry," a quiet voice said from his side.

Turning, Harry came face to face with Draco with two of his friends: Greengrass and Zabini.

"Did you want something?" He asked, puzzled at the sudden reappearance of Draco who had stopped coming to talk to him since a long time ago.

"Well," Draco shifted slightly, his shoulders slightly tensed but he made a good show of being confident of himself. "I would like to speak to you afterwards... after the Dueling Competition, you know, to catch up and all…"

Harry arched an eyebrow, skeptical, but humoring him. "Sure, in private or are they," he motioned Greengrass and Zabini. "Coming along too?"

"If it were okay with you, then preferably so."

Harry shrugged. "It's fine with me. And congratulations on your duel; it was fast and you gave the opponent no time to recover."

A pleased smile spread across Draco's lips. "That is a high compliment coming from you," he mused. "But personally, I thought Daphne here had a more interesting duel. Quite unexpected of Pansy, and here I was, wondering why she had conjured her makeup brushes."

"If you must know, Pansy does have a bit of creativity," Daphne said from behind Draco. She grinned at him and he offered a small smile in return which made him slightly uncomfortable. "She just doesn't put it into good use often." Blaise sniggered.

"I heard your duel is with Granger then?"

Harry inclined, motioning over to Granger at the side with her book in hand as her mouth parted into a furious chant of spells. "Apparently," he said dryly. "I can look forward to interesting spells."

The three Slytherins casted an off-hand glance at Granger before Blaise commented, "She doesn't stand a chance against you, but I give her credit for trying."

"Careful now," Greengrass warned, elbowing Blaise slightly on the side. "You wouldn't want to underestimate the enemy," she glanced at Granger again. "Granger might be good at theoretical approach, but it doesn't necessarily mean that she can't improve on her dueling skills."

Harry hummed. "Personally, I'm looking forward to a more _dazzling_ duel, quite the opposite of yours, Draco. Where would the fun be?" he mused.

"The hunt then?" Draco said immediately, catching on on his inner sadism. "You enjoy watching her struggles as she duel, weak against you?"

He flashed a grin. "Perhaps you're correct. I would see."

Daphne shook her head, but there was a small smile as she placed her hand on his shoulder, patting it. He tried not to shift away from the physical contact but grimaced slightly anyway. "Good luck," she said quietly, before brightening. "Lighten up this dreary atmosphere created from those unsatisfactory duels." She gestured towards the two students exiting the stage, looking moderately relieved.

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger."

Heads turned to Professor McGonagall as she read out the two names from the long scroll. The students parted to allow him space; Draco patted on his back mutedly in all seriousness, but there was a light dancing in his eyes that showed his anticipation for the match.

Matching Granger's steps, he glided up the stone cold steps and made his way to the left side of the platform, Granger to the right. He could see the slight fear and uncertainty in her eyes for a moment, but it was gone as quick as it was flashed when she bit her lip in grim determination. Wands were raised, mirroring one another, but their duel was in a battle of mind thus far as their eyes locked.

"At the count of three… one, two –"

He was distracted momentarily, from the flash of silver towards his right. He turned to meet the distracting face of Riddle, who was scrutinizing him.

"_Three_."

An orange light careened towards him as Granger blasted her first spell: Brandishing Charm. Not bothering to put up a shield, Harry side stepped the charm as a violet hex came his way again. This time, he conjured a glass mirror to reflect the hex, which rebounded back to Granger. Pausing slightly, his lips curled as he watched his opponent dart out of the way ungracefully, hair in a mess. Eyes met and the duel resumed in vigor; he was savoring every moment of it – dancing out of harm's way and scrolling through the list of curses he could use before casting them.

Granger was good, he thought as he brought up another shield. But she used strictly light spells without a tinge of darkness. Minor spells and not even cutting spells were used. Cutting spells were considered moderate and neutral; students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had used them in the previous duels, but it seemed as if Granger was avoiding going into that area.

He paused, cocking his head slightly to the side as he wondered. What was in her reluctance? Was it a fear of setting of the duel into a whole new darker level?

He casted a glance at the overarching clock which indicated that three minutes had passed. If he were aiming to finish the duel in five, then he needed to up the match a little… spice things up. Eyes narrowing in concentration as he and Granger circled each other, ten feet apart, he brought his wand high above his head and murmured the beautiful Latin incantation softly, almost musically.

Confusion darted across Granger's eyes, but in all her curiosity and uncertainty, she did not move to attack him and that was the mistake he was hoping for. As the last of the incantation fell from his lips, he watched, mesmerized as three of his doubles sprang to live. Doppelgangers, but modified and would vanish when he willed it so, or when their short lives were up.

Hearing the gasp of Granger, he smirked at her sudden anxiety as to combat his castoffs. She barely had any time to scream, though her mouth parted wide open. The Doppelgangers attacked with a viciousness and speed, not giving her time to rest like he had done previously. It was a stretch – a test of her limits and while she could hold her ground thus far, Harry could tell that she was slipping and losing her grip and confidence.

Engaged in the duel as she was, she failed to notice the invisibility spell he had casted upon himself, though some of the students observing him did and broke into noisy chatters. Gliding without a sound across the platform, he reached to her side with her unawares. Another look at the Doppelgangers and he mentally commanded the puppets that they were not to finish her, because the honor lay in him.

Silent and still, he stood behind the frustrated Granger, observing his prey while maintaining a shield charm. Seconds trickled by, and his heart leapt in excitement as she finally realized his absence. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide as they darted around the platform for him, while trying to maintain the shield charm.

"Where is he?" she cried, taking a few steps forward. Her fellow Gryffindors shouted wildly; some were trying to cheer her on, others partaking in the fun and screaming without abandonment. A lone witch was be hurling out all the facts about the duel, trying to tell her that he had casted a concealment charm upon himself, but her strained voice were lost in the commotion.

He watched as Granger's shield charm faded away, the last of her strength gone as she sighed, seemingly prepared for the conclusion of the duel. In that same instant, he willed the Doppelgangers to vanish; they dissolved slowly into the atmosphere, first their arms, legs and then their torso into nothingness.

Granger had her mouth open to half a scream as she shrieked, "Doppelgangers! Velescky's Doppelgangers!" she finally caught on to the type of Doppelgangers he had used. _Very good_, she hadn't disappointed him. But it was too late for her realization to come. "They're dark magic!" she protested wildly, gesturing towards the Professors for support. "They're illegal!" Attempting to turn the table against him, Granger swung around wildly in the platform, which looked to be too large for a lone student.

"Actually, the Ministry of Magic has permitted the use of Velescky's Doppelgangers," he said, smiling widely as he appeared from behind her. Her eyes widened in shock at his sudden appearance, but it seemed as though her concentration and good senses had left her as her wand lay limply by her side. He did not tell her his source; months ago, Sirius had conveniently mentioned the newest law to him, while venting out his frustrations at the allowance of several borderline-dark curses to be used.

"You-!" Granger shouted angrily, taking two steps forward against her better judgment in her anger. She raised her wand to curse him and he blocked it effortlessly. The curse was weak, for she was already weakened from the duel. "You cheating scum! The duel is void! You left me to duel to your doubles and I hardly think that it was brilliance on your part!" she raged, her usually composed mannerisms forgotten in her furiousness at having been cheated out of a _proper_ duel.

Angry shouts rose from the crowd who had enjoyed his spectacular, extraordinary and interesting display of magic which set him apart from the rest of the monotonous duels. Even the Gryffindors looked as though they might disagree with Granger.

"All curses are permitted," he informed her snarkily with a last glance towards the clock. Ten seconds more till the end of five minutes, he noted.

"The contestants are reminded that the duel is best finished within five minutes. An extension of another five would be given if deemed necessary…" Riddle's stoic voice rose from behind Granger. The man's expression was blank as per normal, but Harry saw the corner of his lips quirk at his pleasure of witnessing an interesting duel.

Distracted, Granger had her attention on Riddle.

"Expelliarmus," Harry said clearly and her wand flew into his hand without resistance. The witch looked defeated and hot tears had sprung into her eyes at her disappointment as she stormed off the platform without waiting for her cue. Amused, Harry watched her flee through the double doors of the Great Hall. None of the Gryffindors were running after her for they were all transfixed with the aftermath of the duel, eager for the line or two on the match that the Professors would usually say to conclude the duel.

"Well," Professor McGonagall's voice held a tinge of tremor as she concluded her duel, eyes fixed on him. "That was an impressive display of magic and strategy from Mr Potter. Quite unlikely any other, and one of the most interesting duels we had the pleasure of seeing today." She cleared her throat. "Mr Potter will proceed to the second round of the Dueling Competition."

Taking her words as the cue to leave, Harry turned towards the steps and marched down, feeling unusually light-headed after the duel. His mood was feeling better than it had been after several days; he was actually humming to himself as he dissolved into the folds of the crowd. He caught sight of Draco amongst the students and nodded to the blond, indicating that he had not forgotten about their appointment later.

For now, he mused languidly, he would sit back and watch the remaining students duel.


	6. Chrome Heart

**{A/N} **Title credit to DBSK's Mirotic.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Harry hummed as he followed Draco and the other Slytherins down the steps. He glanced around as they walked past the portraits on the first level of Hogwarts, wondering where they would be going. He hadn't asked Draco yet, trusting the blond to lead him to a private place for their conversation. Belatedly, he realized that they were heading towards the direction of the Slytherins' dungeons.

He was proved right when Draco turned left and descended upon a flight of steps that were well hidden behind a false wall. The steps were not too long but they were narrow so that they had to go by single file. Dimly lit by the lamps that hung upon the walls and in unison, the three Slytherins raised their wands to further illuminate the steps.

As he walked downwards, he watched his steps carefully while surveying the portraits on the walls. They leered at him as he passed, scorning when they saw the Ravenclaw colours on his robes, but they did not shriek for him to halt. Perhaps, he thought, if he were a Gryffindor, things might have been different. Or a Hufflepuff.

Seconds later, the steps curved to a gentle slope, revealing a blank wall. Harry closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of magic that throbbed around it. Instantly, he knew that it was the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, but was surprised by the lack of extravaganza. Though, he had to put it to Slytherin to come up with all these lines of defenses for a common room when the other houses had their common rooms in plain view for all to see.

"The Slytherin dungeons?" he questioned lightly, slightly curious as to why Draco would include him into the valued privacy of the Slytherins.

He shrugged lightly and Blaise replied casually, "Privacy. The Slytherins won't say anything. Not with Draco around…" he grinned when Draco paused to glare at his direction, before raising both his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, cool off, Malfoy. I won't be saying anything. Though everyone can see that Professor Riddle favors you…" he mumbled under his breath sullenly, sounding the slightest bit jealous but all in good humor.

Rolling her eyes, Daphne prodded him in the abdomen as she mumbled the Slytherin password without making an effort to hide it from him. "Albania,_"_ she said; her palm on the wall. A flare of red light surrounded her palm briefly before the walls crumbled in a similar fashion as Diagon Alley and allowed her entrance.

Harry paused, looking at the blank space in front of him intently. He should have suspected that there had to be more than just a simple password guarding the Slytherin dungeons. The charm looked to be highly advanced if it could detect the intruders from the real occupants and he figured that it was above the level of an average student. Briefly, he wondered if Professor Riddle had implemented this change because he certainly hadn't heard of this special advantage granted to the Slytherins when Hogwarts was founded.

Eyeing the space before him apprehensively, Harry took a step in and was relieved to find himself in the dungeons. Turning around, the wall had formed behind him into a solid concrete, looking positively innocent.

"Come," Blaise said, motioning him over.

Into the common room, the Slytherins raised their heads up at the sight of an unfamiliar face. Pausing to survey them Harry returned the cold glare that some of the Slytherins shot him with; they were clearly miffed with the idea of an intruder yet they did not rise to halt him. They casted one glance at Draco and sunk back into their seats, resuming their previous activities.

The room was slightly colder than the normal temperatures outside, but that was to be expected. Though, the common room had nothing of the eerie green light he had expected; green and silver adorned the chairs and tables, but it was not overly done and had a luxurious touch. All the furniture looked expensive, including the carpeting. They were not the standard Hogwarts desks and chairs and it appeared that the Slytherins had invested into keeping their common room as cosy as possible.

No wonder they acted superior around the other houses, Harry mused, inwardly chuckling. They _were_ superior in this sense.

"This way," Draco said, interrupting him. His eyes darted back to the Malfoy Heir, who was standing upon a short flight of steps with Daphne flanking him and Blaise making his way over. He walked over to them, following Draco as he was lead up to a second level with two enormous doors on opposite ends. Reading the Latin engravings, he noted them to be the dormitory for the seventh-year boys and girls.

Waving his wand to cast an unlocking spell, Draco magically unlocked the door which swung open to reveal its majestic furnishings. Five grand beds lay a good distance apart from each other, with tables and closets set between them. There was a door at the far end of the room and Harry assumed that it led to the bathroom.

Plopping down to the bed closest to the window charmed to reveal the ground-floor level, Draco motioned him over and he walked, feeling slightly stiff and awkward in this unknown territory. Deciding to make the best of this situation, he pulled over the chair from the table adjacent to Draco's bed and sat down on it, watching as Daphne and Blaise sat on another bed opposite Draco's.

"Well…?" Harry said, once they were all comfortably settled. "Surely you didn't bring me here to show off your common rooms? They're a tad too luxurious compared to the rest of the school, but I expected nothing less for you all."

Draco shrugged, waving a hand casually though he was clearly pleased. "When Professor Riddle became the Head of House years ago, he proposed this motion to the Board of Directors. The Slytherin common rooms shifted after that, to the room of Salazar Slytherin himself and all the furniture were replaced."

"And you were allowed to do that? Isn't there some form of standardization?" Harry questioned, curious. "Wouldn't the other houses demand for similar form of treatment?"

"Actually, the other houses can propose such an idea," Daphne piped out from the side. "But there are two reasons why they don't, or so we Slytherins love to speculate," she grinned widely. "Firstly, there is no available space for them. The rest of the founders were content to combine their rooms with their respective towers and common room of the students, so there isn't any of their personal space to be converted. Slytherin was different in this aspect," she added brightly. "He values privacy, the same way as Professor Riddle…" her voice started to be slightly dreamy and Blaise rolled his eyes before taking over and explaining.

"And don't forget – a lot of galleons have to be put in for such a major shift. Hogwarts doesn't allow its fund to be used for this. Dumbledore had protested with this point when the motion was proposed. The purebloods however, were willing to spend the extra for a higher level of comfort." He lay down on the bed dramatically, fingers trailing on the silk-covered mattress. "And it's been like this for the past few years."

"What about the wards outside the common room? Do you have to be a Slytherin to gain access even with the password?"

"A Slytherin, or a guest with Professor Riddle. Professor Riddle is the one who did the charms and anyone he deems worthy is keyed to the wards. We are normally not allowed to bring visitors from out of Hogwarts, but a fellow student is allowed because they aren't much of a threat. Though, they have to be accompanied by a Slytherin who isn't under any charms like the imperious or the influence of a potion," Daphne explained. "It's a brilliant piece of magic, seeing that it can detect much more than a simple password we used to have."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, stretching a little on the chair and turning to the silent Draco who gave a small start at the sudden attention.

"So…" Draco said, looking slightly hesitant."I heard about your recent detention with Professor Riddle…"

Eyes narrowed. "Word travels fast, apparently."

"Well, it's not like this," Draco shifted slightly, looking highly uncomfortable but he continued on. "I was just surprised that the Professor scheduled his detention with you when he usually allows Filch to meet it out."

Frowning, Harry eyed Draco curiously. So Draco was uneasy and ignorant of the contents of his detention with Riddle? If he was favored by Riddle, why couldn't he ask the Professor directly, instead of forcing himself to ask Harry here, when he clearly was curious about the proceedings. And the fact that Draco was uncomfortable not knowing the details of the detention further heightened his sense of suspicions. There was nothing much to be uptight, was there? It was only a small detention… and the Malfoy Heir hadn't even known of his little fainting spell which meant that Riddle that bastard had at least given him some sense of dignity.

"He just wanted a change, I suppose. It's been years, like you've said," Harry answered at a long last. "Perhaps Filch has had other commitments that day, I wouldn't know." He shrugged.

Draco looked skeptical but wisely did not press on.

"So… what do you think of Professor Riddle, Harry?" he asked, looking serious now.

"Pardon me?" Harry said incredulously. Exactly _what_ did Draco want from him?

"Well… I know that you and Professor Riddle have had many odd ends over these years, but putting those matters aside, what do you think of him? Do you… do you respect him?" Draco pressed on, as subtle as a Hufflepuff.

He arched his brow and his eyes locked with each of the Slytherins. He had a fairly good idea what they were up to now… but why? Why would they be sounding him out? Unless…

"To a certain extend – yes." Harry admitted, deciding that he would have to play this well to know what the Slytherins were up to. "It's hard not to," he justified at the look on Blaise's face. "Though we've had many differences, Professor Riddle is a highly accomplished wizard unlike many other after all." At least that sounded passable and was a _tiny_ bit honest.

"That's great to hear," Draco said, sounding relieved.

"Why so?" he shot.

Draco looked startled at his slip and his eyes darted over to Daphne, who quickly intervened, her fingers twisting her long blond hair as she spoke in a calmly, eyes on him. "What Draco meant was that it isn't good for you to keep clashing with the professor during lessons, especially when you need all the time you can get in the NEWT year."

Draco nodded slightly vigorously, before adding on. "Say, you did agree that Professor Riddle is a highly accomplished wizard?" At his nod, he continued. "What do you think of his ideals? Professor Riddle has brought about many changes to the Ministry and Hogwarts over the span of his illustrious career, so surely you would have opinions on some of them?"

Harry considered, his mind scrolling through the –long– list of improvements Riddle had brought during his career before conceding. "I do. While I may not agree with all of them –" Draco cringed at this point. "Most have their benefits to the Wizarding Society. The implementations of a new range of classes in Hogwarts have been useful, for one." He settled for a safe topic.

"Yes it would be," Daphne frowned. "Especially when many of the old subjects have been removed with Dumbledore's succession as the Headmaster. Though Professor Riddle has tried his best to reinstate some of the subjects during his time at Hogwarts, it is not entirely successful with Dumbledore's constant attempts at hindering him."

"Yes, Dumbledore does seem to have a tight reign over Hogwarts. Although, isn't the curriculum in the hands of the Board of Governors?" He questioned.

Daphne played with the ends of her blond hair as she stared into space thoughtfully. "From what I've read, it is true, but even within the Board of Governors, Dumbledore does have his influence. The fact that some of the older classes have been restored shows that Dumbledore does not have total control, though."

"It's good to hear, isn't it?" Blaise piped out. Harry turned to him, momentarily forgetting his presence. "It never is particularly good to have a lone man in charge."

Smirking, Harry asked, "Would your stand change if it were Professor Riddle in charge?"

Blaise seemed taken aback by the question. Harry stared at him, waiting for an answer. Now that Blaise had created and fallen into his own trap, he wasn't about to let the matter slide without getting out a satisfactory answer. Blaise turn left and right to Draco and Daphne, both of who were determinedly avoiding his eyes.

"I-" he started, before faltering at the sight of Harry's eyes that were boring into him switched tracks immediately, going for honesty. "I wouldn't," he admitted. "I place more faith and trust to Professor Riddle than Dumbledore, to know that he will lead us to the correct direction the Wizarding Society should go."

"That's an immense amount of faith you've placed on one man. What if he fails you? What if his ideals are different from yours?"

Blaise shrugged, back to his good-natured attitude and looking relieved that Harry hadn't whipped out his wand and start hexing him for his answer. "I… The Slytherins know Professor Riddle quite well," he said. "And I think it is safe to conclude that Professor Riddle is one of the most powerful wizards in time. If he puts his mind to it, I don't think it's likely he will fail."

"But Headmaster Dumbledore doesn't quite agree with Professor Riddle, does he?"

"They're both powerful," Blaise conceded. "But –"

"But Professor Riddle has more influence than Headmaster Dumbledore," Draco said quietly. Eyes turned to him as he continued. "Professor Riddle had worked in the Ministry of Magic as a high-ranking official and in Hogwarts. The amount of contacts he has had surpasses that of Dumbledore's."

"Headmaster Dumbledore has lived far many decades more than Professor Riddle. He knows of more distinguished wizards, if that were the case," Harry shot back, curious as to what Draco would say, but Draco didn't look concerned.

"Professor Dumbledore, during his career, has offended many of those he once called friends. During his thrice-rejection of the position as the Minister of Magic despite the publics' cries; during his duel with Grindelwald when he chose not to kill the _then_ Dark Lord but to imprison him; during his more active period with the Wizengamort when he passed many unsatisfactory laws to suit his ideals." Draco listed. "Whereas," he stressed, now looking at Harry dead in the eye. "Professor Riddle has not."

"He does not, or he doesn't dare to?"

Looking slightly peeved at his question, Draco's voice rose slightly. "I assure you, there are few and far things between that Professor Riddle does not dare of. He merely respects the wizards and witches…" Harry snorted internally. "Believing each of their opinions to be valuable. In the end, even though he usually manages to achieve what he initially planned out, it is with respect to the community and their acceptance for the new change."

_Honestly? _

"Dumbledore always gets his way," Daphne said, adding onto Draco's point. "He does not let go and he will find a way to let others see his ideals. Only Professor Riddle has managed to let the rest of us see clearly for the hidden truth behind the twists and turns of Dumbledore's words."

Remembering his Career Conference with Dumbledore, Harry considered Daphne's words. There was some truth to it, but he didn't like the way she was trying to convince him towards her view. It seemed odd somehow, and he was sure that there was a bigger purpose and motive he was missing out on.

Or maybe he had a tiny inkling of where this would lead to.

"Some examples of the above?"

"There are plenty. Right from the beginning, Dumbledore has been all talk about the controversy surrounding muggleborns and the muggles and wants to bring them into the Wizarding Society as much as possible – especially towards the family of muggleborns. What he doesn't realize – or does not deem as a threat – is that he is blurring the very edge of the line between the Wizarding World and the Muggles', threatening the Statue of Secrecy which has been set in stone even before the Founder's era. He tells the society that he has the interests of muggleborns at heart to better integrate them, but he is risking the secrecy of all witches and wizards by doing so. Greatness spawns envy. Muggles would never be content being below the magical beings."

"And what does Professor Riddle say then? Can Professor Riddle make any change? He is a just a Professor after all," Harry challenged, carefully observing Daphne. He saw a conflicted look flicker across her face and pressed on, trying to bait her in. "Dumbledore is a Light Lord and he is recognized globally. Despite his conflicts with others, he _is_ a powerful wizard. The fact that Wizarding Britain holds the most power in the Wizarding Society merely ascertains his position."

"Professor Riddle is more than-" Daphne began hotly.

"I think it's safe to assume that Professor Riddle could rival Dumbledore if he wanted to," Draco interrupted for the second time, successfully drawing the attention from Daphne who seemed to remember herself.

"_If_ he wanted to," Harry echoed. "Does he really? It is pointless pining all hopes on a man who doesn't wish for a change."

Draco swallowed, looking as hesitant as Daphne had previously. Harry waited, patiently for the blond to speak. If he weren't wrong, things would start to be interesting just about now –

"I have sworn my allegiance to a Lord," Draco began quietly. Harry allowed his eyebrows to rise though he wasn't surprised by that revelation. Purebloods always had a leader to follow, whether they displayed it in the public or not. They were often in groups and alliances which made the political dancing all the more trickier if you didn't know who belonged where. "Professor Riddle… He is a trusted confidant and valuable asset to my Lord."

_Interesting _and rather believable_… _if he didn't know better. Riddle, that arrogant bastard would _never_ be a follower to anyone, Lord or not. He had a God complex, which meant that Draco was definitely hiding something behind his Lord and he would have to unravel this mystery. Though, it brought him a step closer. Just who was Riddle in this political circle? Behind his list of never-ending facades, no reporter or news had ever come close to unmasking this man and his true status.

He opted for a safe answer. "You're saying that Professor Riddle holds much power within the political circle, I assume? Even more so than his contacts within the Ministry which are better known in the society?"

Draco nodded and Blaise spoke up, sharing another look with Draco, as if confirming what to reply. He refrained from curling his lips at that blatant display. As Slytherins, they could do much more instead of being as subtle as a Hufflepuff. "This Lord… his identity is a secret only to those who have sworn their allegiances to him," Blaise started and Harry snorted slightly, ignoring the agitated glare that was sent his way. _Obviously._ "But all I can say is that our Lord is _very_ interested in you as a follower. He believes that you can be a great asset to his cause. News of your extraordinary grades has reached him."

He considered, hands playing with the silk comforter of the Draco's bed as he stared off at the enchanted windows, momentarily distracted. "And Professor Riddle? Would he not disagree?"

Blaise followed his gaze towards the window and frowned when it appeared as if he was not paying much attention to the conversation. Nevertheless, he replied stonily, "Professor Riddle is wise enough to value talent over… his personal grudges. And I will not commit myself to thinking that I know of how our Professor thinks."

_As if_ Riddle valued talent_._ If he counted by that little group of Riddles, that certainly didn't seem the case. He seemed a little sore over here, but it was true that he was curious and slightly frustrated as to the never-ending hold that Riddle had over him… strangely enough, he had often found himself pondering over the mystery that surrounded the man.

"I will not," he said at a long last. Heads turned to him as he explained. "I will not commit myself to a Lord." He paused, watching as Draco opened his mouth to speak and raised his hands to stop him. "Not unless I am clear on his ideals and his true identity. I cannot follow a man I know not of."

"But if you knew of this Lord, would you follow him?" Draco pressed on, all pretenses of disguising the true nature of the conversation long forgotten.

"Who is he?" Harry deadpanned.

Daphne shifted nervously as Draco and him stared each other down. "I don't think it's wise to…" the witch began.

"I will ask him," Draco said finally, standing up now as he did so, towering over Harry who merely relaxed further into the bed. "I will ask my Lord of what he thinks."

Harry nodded, eyes on the Malfoy Heir. Watching the other two Slytherins stand, he took it as his cue to leave, following them as they led him back to the entrance. The walk back was largely silent but he was at ease, pretending not to notice the way Blaise and Daphne whispered heatedly behind him, or the uneasy steps that Draco took.

It had been a big revelation. Someone wanted him as a follower. He allowed himself to think things through now, without any further questions and interruptions to disrupt his flow of thoughts. He had no idea who, but he would very well, _very soon¸_ be bound to a Lord he might quite possibly not agree with.

Suddenly, it seemed like Dumbledore all over again. Dumbledore wanted him to fight for his Order of the Phoenix against the Dark Lord, who also appeared to be the _same_ Lord who wanted him in _his_ cause against Dumbledore. If he didn't know better, he would wager and say that he was walking on a very _fine_ line right now, with both sides of the imminent war tearing at both of his sides.

He would never be allowed to play neutral in the war, he realized in that instant. Dumbledore's involvement and implication of him in his plans had been the first clue. The first warning, which he had dismissed. But he had also caught the attention of the Dark Lord… he didn't know which was better, having never planned to be involved in the war.

"I'll see you around soon?" Draco's tentative voice came from his left, as if unsure to interrupt his train off thoughts.

He nodded, slightly jerkily and slowly made his way up the steps, head dizzy with the new information.

"And Harry?" Draco's voice rang again.

Mentally wondering if he should just ignore the blond, Harry turned after a moment.

"Professor Riddle just asked to meet you now."

He didn't question how Riddle could communicate with Draco in a flash, though he did wonder why he didn't think about that previously.

He only sighed at the stubbornness of his quickening heart in his anticipation to meet Riddle.

* * *

><p>"Enter," an all too familiar voice drawled even before his hand had knocked. Glaring sullenly at the door, Harry wondered if Riddle had the eye of the Auror Moody to see through wood.<p>

Sliding past the door and settling down at the seat he had only vacated days ago, Harry observed the room with a familiar air. His pounding heart was calm now, and his magic felt more light-hearted than it had been with Draco, though he was puzzled as to why. He should have been high on his guard now, with the most dangerous predator before him.

Seconds ticked by. Riddle was still focused on his work, paying him no heed. Underneath the table, Harry started to get irritated and drummed his fingers idly, aware of the twitch in Riddle's left eye at his actions.

"I assume that you've brought along the _Adventures of Merlin_?" Finally, the silence was broken when Riddle looked upwards at him, setting the quill down properly and rolling up the scroll of parchment so that he couldn't read it.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, trying to sound as respectful as possible. Now that the whole issue of the _Dark Lord_ was in light, and that Riddle was somehow trapped in this mess, he would have to take further note of how he acted and spoke… lest they proved deadly for him in future. He might have been slightly temperamental in the past, but he wasn't foolish.

Pulling out the book from his bag, he carefully avoided Riddle's intense gaze. When the Professor didn't look away and he had rearranged his book as much as possible, Harry finally gave into temptation and returned the stare.

"Is there anything you wanted, Professor?"

A small smirk curled around the edge of Riddle's edge. His voice became low as he spoke and Harry resisted the urge as a pleasant shiver went up his spine. "Is this really you, Mr Potter? Rather… respectful today. Your tongue has been tamed, and for what, I do wonder."

Returning that sly grin, Harry kept his tone light-hearted and casual. "On the contrary," he began, struggling with the effort of keeping the grin on his face. "I'm sure you do know."

"Is that so?" the voice was quieter now, though it was amused.

"Very much so." Sliding the book across the table to Riddle, Harry kept his eyes on the Professor. "May we begin?" he asked, not breaking the eye contact.

"How much of Merlin's biography is true within the folds of this book?" the voice was curt and strictly professional.

Harry thought for a moment before he answered. "The source has not been verified, but I believe that the majority of the content holds true. Especially…" he faltered slightly, but Riddle motioned for him to continue and his voice became stronger. "Especially after Merlin's death. The Crystal Heart of Merlin, for one, sounds extremely convincing."

"An extraordinary gift, a rare stone. Immensely powerful to the user," Riddle quoted and they shared a knowing look. They both knew the properties of the stone. "What do you think of the stone?"

"I think –" He began but was interrupted.

"What you truly think," Riddle said and Harry turned his bewildered eyes to him. "Spare me false and model answers. This detention… I have not taken my time out for answers I could get from the textbook."

Staring heatedly at Riddle, as though doubting him, Harry steeled himself and rephrased his answer.

"The stone is dangerous; perhaps more than it seems at first glance. It may not be able to shoot lightning bolts, or cast numerous _Avada Kedavara_s at one shot, but because it has the ability to manipulate the emotions of several people at one go, it can, if used correctly, prove to be even more lethal a weaponry. Death is not necessarily the worst suffering one can endure; manipulating with the weakness of emotions within humans can prove to be worst. Stripping a person of all hope and happiness has the same equivalent effect as the Dementor's, which many agree is a fate worse than death. But whereas a Dementor sucks out your entire soul and leaves you numb, the Heart of Merlin leaves your soul intact, for you to feel the pain…"

Riddle did not answer, nor did he interrupt his monologue. There was a long silence as the professor stared at him as though seeing him for the first time clearly. Then, a small smile spread across his face as he stood up, striding forward as gracefully as a predator. Harry resisted a shiver at the blatant display of power and confidence.

"Would you," the voice was high and cold from behind him. "Would you willingly use the Heart of Merlin for your own purposes?"

He spun around to face him.

"Is this a trick question, Professor?" he drawled, appearing calm and self-assured.

The glare sent to him was eager.

"Answer me, child." There was a tinge of impatience.

"I don't quite see how this is relevant-"

Riddle scoffed. "If this is your attempt at stalling for more time, I suggest that much improvement has to be made. We have plenty of time till the end of detention… and there could be many more to come," he hinted.

"I believe I have quite enough sense to know that no attempt of stalling for time would get me out of this question," Harry retorted, jumping up from his seat and joining Riddle at the window.

Conjuring two glasses filled with firewhisky, Riddle thrust one of the glasses into his limp hands. Bewildered, Harry looked at the professor questioningly.

"Drink," Riddle said. At his skeptical expression, he added, "You're quite legal, are you not?"

Following his lead, Harry brought the glass to his lips and took a long sip, relishing in the burning taste of firewhisky which was pleasant. He had never had a chance to drink this, having spent the majority of his Hogsmeade visits wandering and exploring the place instead of loitering and wasting hours in their shops.

Tilting his head back up to meet the burning stare, he allowed himself a moment or two to frame his answer. His mind felt clearer, sharper due to the effects of the firewhisky, which was what Riddle had intended all along. "I… yes I would. To have such control… such power is impossible to grasp," Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he continued. "More than to control witches and wizards with the Heart of Merlin, I would also prefer to spend time investigating the stone itself."

"It is akin to placing the victim under the Imperius Curse," Riddle said quietly, a hand now lifting his chin up to meet his stare directly. Harry fought hard to not look away, but return the burning gaze calmly. "Would it not be against your … morals?To take away the choice and life of a person? The Potters are known to be notoriously light after all."

"I think the most foolish mistake you can have, Professor, is to judge a person through his family background," Harry allowed himself a light grin and he stepped away from Riddle's now relaxed hold on him. "My Uncle Sirius was quite the exception, was he not? Nonetheless, I appreciate magic of all forms, no matter the essence. It is sacred and should be valued as such."

"With such words coming from you, child, it is hard to wonder that it is the same wizard who has been constantly dreaming in my classes," Riddle's silky voice appeared from above him. He had moved closer when his back was turned. Again, Harry did not hear the Professor's light footsteps, although he could feel a shift in the air at the close proximity. Somehow, being close to Riddle gave him pleasant shivers across the length of his spine, which made him _uncomfortable_ and he tried to ignore it.

He shrugged; not moving away as he usually would have and chose instead, to direct the question back.

"What would _you_ have done instead, Professor?" his voice was curious and he was, although a part of him knew the answer.

"What do you think I would have done? What is your impression of me?" Riddle shot back.

Harry pretended to consider before he rattled off. "Vile, egomaniac, strict, stoic and –"

He chuckled, successfully drawing back his attention and cutting off his rant. "Amusing child," Riddle said with a light smile playing at the edges of his lips. "How you seem to have no trouble listing off all my less than admirable qualities. What about my more redeeming ones? Or is there none, I fear?"

"Well actually," Harry pretended to consider. "It's rather hard to see them underneath your day-to-day traits. But," he paused, suddenly aware that Riddle was after all, still a powerful wizard with a God-complex, "I would say that your wit and intelligence is unparalleled…"

"Or so I've been told, a time more than I can remember."

"Show off," he muttered then cleared his throat. "But Professor, about my question –"

"My answer will be identical to yours, if not slightly different in certain _aspects_."

"That's a _perfectly_ nice way of getting around to answering my question –"

"And I find it silly the way the two of you argue," a third voice said snidely from behind them. Spinning around, Harry's eyes widened slightly at the intruder: a handsome man in his late thirties and wearing blood red robes made of fine silk.

Only, that man was in a portrait that hung behind Riddle's desk. A portrait that had been empty for all the time Harry had been in the room and before, until now.

Not giving them a chance to speak, the man stretched, leaning forward to them as he eyed them critically, though his mouth was twitching as he laughed at Professor Riddle like an admonishing parent. To Harry's surprise, Riddle had not yet reacted or cursed the portrait to immobilization or silence; he had only stood there, brows arched in his amusement while listening to the portrait's tirade.

"And how far have you fallen from grace, Tom!" he cried dramatically. "To be arguing with a thirteen year old –" he winked at Harry, obviously intent in riling up his temper.

"I'm seventeen." He said curtly.

"…A seventeen year old when you have more important issues to handle –" the portrait continued, seeming not to have heard Harry.

"I could scarcely wonder what."

"And this fine, young man here seems to have quite a tongue that even _I _can't tame!" the portrait finally exclaimed after Harry's continued mumblings and Riddle's silence. The strange silver eyes fell onto his uniformed before they brightened. "Perhaps Rowena would do a better job?"

"Wait a minute," Harry said suddenly, taking two steps forward to be closer to the portrait, ideas lighting up in his head and falling in place. Why would there be a portrait in Riddle's private quarters? The man there had to be someone of high importance for a pompous, arrogant man like Riddle to even hang such a big frame of him – even if the portrait was usually empty – and there weren't many people magically powerful or talented enough to gain that respect. No one, not one, except for –

"Don't you have other things to do at this time of the day? Slytherin?" Riddle added, finally speaking. He unfolded himself and glided forward beside Harry, placing an arm on his shoulder comfortably, ignoring the glare that the shorter of the two sent up his way. "Like chasing down your lover, perhaps? The last I saw him, he was heading towards the Hufflepuff dormitories."

Harry watched the two in amazement, having never seen Riddle interact with another being as though they were on equals. Granted, Slytherin was dead, but this was still a first and Harry was surprised that the snarky professor could actually have a civil conversation… civil enough.

Slytherin only waved a hand, smirking. He saw traces of Riddle's smirk in the Founder of Hogwarts. "He can wait for a while," he said loftily. "That won't give him a head start anyway, no matter what he tries to hint to the Hufflepuffs. They never listen to him, but why he won't give up on the House Cup, I have no idea. Besides, I couldn't miss this time listening to the both of you, discussing such interesting and fascinating topics, could I?"

"You know about Merlin's Crystal Heart?" Harry asked curiously. "You must have known more about it than Professor Riddle and I do. Is the contents of the book truthful?"

Silver-grey eyes pierced at his sharply. Slytherin settled himself languidly on the sleek sofa within the portrait as he took his time to answer. "I wouldn't know, could I? It was not a central point of my research. But yes, based on what I've seen and heard, it is a highly plausible theory. Has Tom here not given you the book?"

"Book?"

"The second book on the Crystal Heart." Eyes swiveled towards Riddle. "Surely you've let him read it? How else would your suspicions be –"

"That's quite enough, Salazar-" Riddle said curtly, his mood abruptly darkening. His eye met Harry's and stared him down, clearly indicating that the matter was to be forgotten.

"By Slytherin's greatest, noblest name! Tom, you can't possibly be trying-" The portrait broke off, looking agitated.

"Try what?" Harry pressed.

Crimson eyes met his. "Later." He watched as Riddle raised his wand and the portrait was immediately enveloped in a black mist. Spluttering sounds were heard and a tirade of protests as Slytherin blindly made his way out of the current portrait and into another that was rooms away.

Once the mist had dissolve, Harry was gestured back to the chair, where he sat down impatiently, eager to hear more.

"The book –"

"Yes, the book," Riddle said. "The book which you will not be reading –"

"Why so, Professor? Surely it isn't of any harm, when a student is eager to learn," he reasoned.

"You child, have to learn of patience," Riddle preached and Harry resisted a hit to the man's head. "In due time you will learn, but not now; it will do you more harm than good."

"So tell me," Harry breathed, leaning closer to Riddle. He stood up and walked round the desk to be next to Riddle. His hands found its way to Riddle's arms and held him tightly as he whispered. "There is _more_ to the Heart of Merlin is there not? You would not have been curious otherwise…"

The arm was fast, like a serpent's strike. In a split second, Riddle had stood up, hand twisting the arm Harry had been resting on him and pulled him close, flush against his chest. The other hand found its way to his chin and lifted it, so that their eye contact was never broken.

The seconds ticked by and neither of them were willing to break the glance. Harry could feel his heart thumping wildly at the close proximity and he willed for it to slow yet it only seemed to have the opposite effect. Glancing up at the red eyes, Harry saw his reflected image – determined and stubborn. He wondered what Riddle was thinking when the man spoke.

"Too intelligent," he said quietly. "Far too curious about things that you perhaps should not meddle with."

"Like what, Professor?" Harry whispered back, just as passionately, tightening his hold on the Professor. "What could possibly be so secretive pertaining to the ancient crystal that has long been lost? Or has it really been?" Realization dawned upon him.

With a last intense glance, Riddle pulled away from him, settling back onto his seat. Harry took the opportunity of the man's turned back to take a breath of fresh air, trying to regain his senses.

"We will talk about this at a later date." There was a sweeping glance to the clock. "You may leave; detention is over."

"Detention might be over, but this most certainly is not," Harry hissed before he stormed away, cursing at his thumping heart.


	7. Last Man Standing

**{A/N} **Title credit to SJ's Superman.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

The Ravenclaw table was abuzz with the latest piece of gossip that morning. A week after his last detention with Riddle, Harry had managed to steer clear of his Professor's wrath and remained silent and as docile as he could get in class. He was enjoying the fresh air of Monday morning in the Great Hall when his dormitory mates sparked his curiosity with their loud conversation from beside him.

"I heard that he is really, really accomplished," Terry Boot said excitedly with his mouth full of toast. "He doesn't normally accept this type of demonstrations, but when Dumbledore invited him over, he agreed immediately."

"And to think that he's the youngest wizard to make it into the Charm Registry…" Antony Goldstein sighed in admiration. "Even Professor Flitwick didn't make it there until he was in his forties and we all know that he is brilliant at Charms."

"Would he only be here for one lesson though?" Another Ravenclaw asked, scratching his head.

"That's what I've heard but apparently, I think he's here for some sort of a favor to Dumbledore…"

Harry perked up, interested now as he listened to their conversation while taking another swig of pumpkin juice. The other boys paid him no heed as they carried on, already accustomed to his silence and quiet contemplation whilst they talked.

"Favor though? Wonder what that'll be."

Harry frowned as he glanced upwards to the Head table where the professors sat. Dumbledore sat at his usual seat in the middle; other than the madly twinkling eyes, there seemed to be no other difference in his composure. The other professors though, looked rather excited. Professor Flitwick himself was jabbering away excitedly to Professor Sprout who seemed slightly taken aback by his boisterous chatter but humoring him nonetheless.

"When will he be here?" Harry turned back to Terry Boot where the others were still discussing that latest information.

The boy gave a light shrug as he reached towards another toast. "Probably during Charms today," he said with his mouth full of food. Harry resisted the urge to shudder and immediately averted his eyes from Terry's face, choosing to stare at the wooden table while listening to them.

He pursed his lips. Charms would prove to be interesting.

* * *

><p>"Seventh years, gather round!" The squeaky and upbeat voice of Professor Flitwick resounded from behind the table. A round of snickers later, the tiny Professor magically elevated himself so that he was standing on the table of their newly remodeled classroom.<p>

Gone were the rows of tables and chairs and the large blackboard of the classroom. Instead, the room seemed to be modified and magically enlarged to create a huge open space. Even the ceilings were charmed to mimic the cloudy skies outside and there was a sparrow chirping happily at the window. The floor had a grassy texture to it and Harry was sure that they were tiny grass that had been newly grown to welcome their special guest.

"Attention please!" Professor Flitwick sang as he waved his wand and the chatter of the class fell silent at once. "Allow me to introduce to you our guest – Mortinous Denr, the youngest wizard to have qualified for the Charms Registry Internationally."

As expected, the students started clapping wildly while others were craning their neck to see the elusive Denr, but he was nowhere to be found. Eyebrows creasing, Harry scanned the room from his position far back of the class and noted Professor Flitwick's body to be slightly inclined towards his right side and his turned his gaze there. Barely noticeable was a faint shift in the air and he immediately realized that the man Denr had an invisibility charm on.

But others were not as quick to catch on, with hurried shouting of "Professor, where is he?" resounding through the entire room.

"Now now, settle down –" the tiny Professor tried his best to calm the agitated students who were not paying him any attention.

"You need not look for for me." A new voice said quietly from the far end of the room yet all the students were drawn to it. Turning, their eyes met with Lord Mortinous Denr as his invisibility charm shimmered and dissolved to reveal the famed man.

He was everything like Harry had expected and read about: tall and of moderate build with hair a wavy brown. His eyes were deep and so black a color that it reminded him of Professor Snape's.

"Professor!" a few students cried out, taken aback.

The man casted an alluring smile that caught the breaths of several. "I am Mortinous Denr as Filius has just introduced. You may address me as _sir_ or Lord Denr." The voice was a soothing baritone.

"Professor, why did you choose to come to Hogwarts today?" Gryffindor Granger was the first to ask, hand waving in the air as she tried to inch forward. Harry groaned in his head, having momentarily forgotten that the Charms lesson was combined for all four houses in lieu of their guest.

Another smile from the man and more of the students started swooning. Already accustomed to seeing this in his daily lessons with Professor Riddle, Harry ignored them and waited impatiently for Lord Denr to answer. He too, was curious with the man's arrival. There would have been a good reason why Dumbledore would specially invite the guest over and the conversation he had with Draco days ago replayed in his mind insistently.

"I am here as a favor to Dumbledore," Lord Denr started. At least he was straight to the point. "Although I must admit that I am curious as to the great castle of Hogwarts, having never studied here before."

Surprised whispers immediately greeted the class and Lord Denr continued merrily. "My mother preferred me home-schooled, even when I grew older. The castle of Hogwarts is fascinating and it has almost made me wish I had rebelled against my mother." He winked, striding forward and standing next to Professor Flitwick.

The questions seemed everlasting as the students were eager to hear more about the powerful wizard before them. It seemed almost surreal for them to meet such a highly acclaimed wizard and they were not going to pass this opportunity without getting to know him on a more familiar basis. After fifteen minutes, Harry was relieved to note that Professor Flitwick was ready to interrupt and take over the lesson. Lord Denr was in the middle of sharing his life stories: one involving his brother and a charmed chicken which sang wizarding rhymes that had the crowd laughing.

All but Harry. His lips were stiff.

"Seventh years, listen up!" Flitwick said loudly, his voice magnified to recapture the attention of the students. "Professor Dumbledore wanted Lord Denr here today for reasons apart from letting all of you learn more about the man we only get to see in books. Lord Denr, if you will tell them the lesson we will be having today?" There was a clap and Lord Denr grinned in a playful way.

"How many of you here can cast a successful Patronus Charm?" he asked.

Hands shot into the air immediately without thinking before they slowly sunk back to their original places, the owners looking shifty and awkward after comprehending the question.

Harry frowned, choosing not to raise his hand. Though he had managed to cast his first Patronus in his sixth year, it was not without difficulty and definitely one of the hardest charms he tried. Even till now, he wasn't absolutely confident of his Patronus Charm for it was not always successful. There were times when only a misty form would appear and it frustrated him to no end…

"A non-corporeal Patronus?" Denr amended.

Murmurs buzzed among the students but nobody stood up. However, Denr did not look crestfallen. On the contrary, a bright smile lit up on his face as he beamed.

"Well then, I'm here to teach you all how to conjure a Patronus!" he exclaimed and the students went wild again, bombarding him with questions.

Harry frowned, wondering what the man was up to. Teaching them a Patronus? Of all the possible charms, he was teaching them a Patronus charm and Harry didn't know why. It was out of their syllabus and they only studied the basic theory of it in their sixth year, but not the practical demonstration of it. And Patronuses were used to defend a wizard against a Dementor… Was there something more to Dumbledore's actions?

"But Professor," Granger said loudly, waving her hands in the air to gain his attention. "The Patronus Charm is not in our syllabus."

Glares were shot at her but Denr took his time to answer.

"Dear child, it could never hurt to know more would it?" The smile was amused and so very condescending subtly.

Granger fell silent.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Professor Flitwick said, brandishing his wand. "Hurry along now, we haven't got all day!"

Everyone fell to their usual positions in class and Harry shuffled to the back, eyeing the students up front who were trying their best to conjure a Patronus. As expected, all of them failed miserably though a couple of them looked as though they were a step closer.

Lord Denr and Professor Flitwick went round the class to direct the students on the correct wand manipulation but it wasn't very successful. The minute Lord Denr's moved over to them, they – especially Lavender Brown – fell into girlish giggles that had the hairs on Harry's neck standing. Ignoring the spell-work, he turned to watch the progress of his classmates for a good portion of the lesson until he noticed the Professor making his way towards him.

Clearing his throat and attempting to look focused in order to steer the wizened Professor away, Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration and made a feeble attempt at the Patronus. A long drawn mist erupted from the end of his wand but those around him gasped at that attempt. He had to be the first to have achieved the silver mist, even if it didn't look particularly impressive next to the real Patronus.

Professor Flitwick gave him an encouraging smile before making his way over, still levitated high above to keep watch on the other students. Beside him stood Lord Denr who was quietly observing him with those eyes. He refused to be intimidated by that man… if he could stand against Riddle that smug bastard, why couldn't he against Denr? Riddle's eyes were far more striking in any case.

Satisfied, Harry turned back to his spell-work, ignoring the stares of the Professors until Professor Flitwick began spreaking.

"That's Mr Potter, a very talented student. All rounded," he added as Denr made to speak. "Though I must admit I have a rather soft spot for him, being talented in charms and one of my Ravenclaws."

Harry glanced up to see a beaming Professor Flitwick. Most people would have blushed or displayed some form of humility with that praise, but he didn't see a need to change his demeanor all of a sudden. If Flitwick wanted to show him off to some fancy, foreign guest, then he wasn't going to demean himself in the process, either way.

"Is that so?" Lord Denr said, eyes upon him. His voice was light and amused. "Mr Potter wouldn't mind demonstrating us the charm…would he?"

Harry found the allure emanating from Denr paling in comparison to Riddle, then wondered why he was even comparing the two in the first place. Admittedly, both were immensely powerful though Lord Denr had nothing on Riddle… or Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid I find myself inept in the Patronus Charm," Harry lied smoothly, turning to Professor Flitwick instead.

The traitorous Professor however, exclaimed loudly in his agitation, "Nonsense Mr Potter! If anyone could successfully have a hand in the charm, it would be you. Even an incorporeal form would suffice at this stage."

The loud voice of the Charms Professor drew the attention of the many who had given up at trying to attain more than a spark at the tip of the wand, all turning to watch the scene unfolding before them. Irritated at the pairs of eyes gawking at him, Harry sighed, not liking to be the object of weird fascination and admiration.

Clearing his throat and raising the wand slightly, he murmured, "Expecto Patronum."

There was a light mist that emerged from his wand before a blast of blinding light erupted. Eyes blinked before they adjusted to the sight of a proud, silvery dragon that was flying in the room in all its majestic air. There were faint murmurs and shocked cries at his patronus; some students were gaping in awe at that mystical creature while others dashed forward in hopes of a better view.

"Marvellous, Mr Potter! Twenty points to Ravenclaw!" Professor Flitwick's delighted voice sang from behind him. The tiny Professor looked downright excited as he waved his wand in joy. A silver swan erupted and joined the dragon, soaring around the classroom and making the atmosphere light and hearty.

"It is a remarkable achievement," the deep baritone voice commented.

Harry tore his eyes off the enchanting patronuses to face Lord Denr. "I hope it wasn't disappointing?"

Something serious was playing along Lord Denr's eyes, contrary to the previously light-hearted image he portrayed. "Far from it, Mr Potter," he assured, a hand clasping on Harry's shoulder even though there wasn't a large difference in their height. "You did a wonderful job. I now realize why Dumbledore sang so highly of you, and of course your delightful Professor." He gestured towards Professor Flitwick who was entertaining the eager students.

"Headmaster Dumbledore does seem to think too highly of me," Harry commented casually, observing the man.

"Your last performance at the Hogwarts Dueling Contest leaves no man unsurprised."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry motioned for the man to continue.

"Word travels fast of your spectacular performance. I do admit," Denr inclined his head slightly. "That I came here with high hopes of acquainting myself with the young star of Hogwarts." He shook his head and laughed, but not mockingly so.

"Is that so? I am… undeserving of your time and such attention."

Another of those grins. "Then make it deserving. The second round of the Dueling Contest is coming in another four days, is it not? Hogwarts will be my home for the next week. Grant me another performance as grand as the previous."

His smile was cold, eyes turning hard as he held the gaze of Denr, whose smile started wavering hesitantly. Harry spoke, whispering almost, "Then I do fear that my performance in the competition is based solely on what I want and not what others desire of me. Forgive me for my impudence."

Denr relaxed, chuckling lightly. "It should be I seeking for your forgiveness to tailor to my wants. I hope you do not take offence?" his hearty mood was back, though there was a slight crease between his eyebrows which indicated worry.

A small smirk graced his lips. "I dare not."

"Exactly as Dumbledore had said," Denr said, observing him carefully. "A thinker, brilliant and a leader. Such rare traits found in a man your age, but with maturity I would seldom have seen."

"I was not aware that Dumbledore knew me on a personal level," Harry paused. "But I hear you are well-acquainted with him?"

He laughed. "Our views are similar. But as you very well know, men have differing opinions and it is not without reason that we are acquainted. Dumbledore however, has proved to be a formidable ally, quite unlike any other."

Harry hummed. "I'm sure he is," he said, tone light despite the sudden wariness he felt.

Turning back to the lesson and rejoining the crowd, he effectively cut off their conversation. Focusing on the remaining minutes of the lesson, he ignored the pair of eyes on him, staring fixatedly at the blackboard.

Dumbledore… Lord Denr was here because of Dumbledore.

And his purpose was to court him over.

* * *

><p>In lieu of the second round of the Dueling Competition and the arrival of an honored guest, the tension was high around Hogwarts. Students could be found in clusters along the corridors, their heads huddled together as they discussed the latest gossip they heard, usually involving the whereabouts of Lord Denr, who seemed to light up the castle with his good humor.<p>

By far and large, all the professors looked amused by the light-hearted jokes and smiles brought by the man… all but a few. More than a few times had Professor McGonagall barked at students who were not paying attention in her class; Professor Riddle remained in his usual stoic but perceived-to-be-charming manner, seeming to be unaffected by the guest if not irritated. It was only during his lesson that all talks about Lord Denr and the Dueling Competition ceased to be replaced by swoons on him and Harry wasn't sure which he preferred.

In the most recent Defense class, Lord Denr had sat in with the seventh-years. For the large part of the lesson, the two Lords had ignored each other. The few times they talked, it was smooth though Harry thought that Lord Denr was sweating slightly under the heated gazes and clipped remarks of Riddle. He had to admire the man for continuing on with his numerous questions about the class though.

And now, briskly walking along the first-floor corridor leading to the Great Hall, Harry was hurrying to the meeting that Professor Riddle had scheduled. It was the details concerning the second round of the Dueling Competition tomorrow and he had a hunch that it would be involving group dueling. More than a few times Riddle had hinted about it in class – in between lessons and explanations of how the Imperius Curse worked – but it seemed that the majority of Hogwarts hadn't any idea.

Some of the more absurd theories involved fighting a dragon and a sphinx which he had ruled out immediately. The Dueling Competition was centered on human-based Dueling, without animals unless transfigured during the match itself.

Relieved that the meeting had not started, he stepped into the Great Hall and found a seat at the Slytherin table where the majority of the qualified students sat at, presumably waiting for the Professor. A quick tempus charm indicated that he was a minute early, and on time.

Settling down, he gave a quick glance at the other students who had made it into the second round. Amongst them, his gaze lingered here and there, before moving on. Most of the students he recognized as from Gryffindor and Slytherin, with fewer Ravenclaws and even less Hufflepuffs in the midst. He caught sight of Draco Malfoy along with Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott right at the head of the table, heads bent together as they murmured quietly to each other.

"Gather round," a short voice sounded from behind.

Heads turned to meet Riddle who was striding forward with large steps though he appeared to be graceful, fluid even in his stride.

Pausing to survey each and every one of them, Riddle took his position at the head of the table and waited for silence before he spoke. It came almost at once without him asking.

"You are all here because you have been qualified to the second round of the Dueling Competition," he stated and heads nodded. "It will commence tomorrow and thus the details will be released today. A group dueling will be the formation for the second round."

Whispers broke out almost immediately as everyone started discussing the possibilities of their group members.

"Will we get to choose our group members, Professor?" a Hufflepuff girl asked, her hands twisting her hair nervously.

Riddle took his time to answer, savoring the undivided attention they casted on him. And if Harry was right, the answer would just about be –

"No, it has been assigned." Sighs met those words. "Sixteen students have made it into the second round of the Dueling Competition. You have been separated into two distinct groups which means a total of eight per group. The rules are simple: the group with the most number of people standing on the arena after fifteen minutes wins, but with a catch: no disillusionment charms are to be used. You will rely on skill alone."

Harry glared at the Professor from his seat, having a sinking suspicion that the last sentence was meant for him. And he _had_ been thinking of casting a concealment charm over himself whilst the rest of the people fought it out amongst themselves, but no matter.

"But Professor," a gangly Gryffindor said. Harry's eyes widened when he realized that it was Ronald Weasley from Gryffindor, having had no idea how he had managed to pass the first round and into the second. Had his opponent stunned himself? He chuckled slightly at that preposterous but possible idea. "This arrangement is unfair if a skilled player is grouped with imbeciles."

The youngest Weasley apparently had no idea the impact of his words, but the students did. If glares could kill, Weasley would have been dead six feet under. Harry himself resisted the urge to snort, bewildered as to how the redhead could find it himself to raise such this question in such a matter. The accomplishment of the first round might have gotten into his head, he decided.

But Riddle's words were surprising. "There will be a special exception awarded for the last man standing of the opposing team. The Professors have concluded that in such cases, the sole talent from the failing team would carry onto the next round. But this will also mean that the weakest player in the winning team would be disqualified."

More gasps and protests met the words, though Harry felt oddly contented. His eyes wandered over to Riddles and resisted the urge to scoff when he saw the blatant amusement in those crimson eyes, almost boredom at the childish concerns of the students. He sometimes wondered why he felt so… alike to Riddle in their ways and mannerisms.

"Quiet down," Riddle hissed at last, his wand waving in the air majestically and silence was granted.

"The first group: Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Terry Boot, Antony Goldstein, Cassius Lont, Sue Adams and Zacharias Smith." There was the sound of immediate relief from the few students. Harry dreaded what was to come, wincing. "And the rest of you are in the second, consisting of Padma Patil, Ronald Weasley, Sarah Devel, Treton McDarvey, Hannah Abbott, Theodore Nott and Harry Potter." Harry saw Theodore Nott groan from the front and he could not help but do the same internally.

He was stuck with Ronald Weasley and other students that were no match against the first group. Though he hated to admit it, Zacharias Smith was a rather talented wizard, while Goldstein, Adams and Greengrass were fairly decent. Draco himself had been trained by the best and was certainly a formidable opponent. Whereas he had… Abbott – he distinctly remembered a fluke with her win – and Weasley. Devel and Nott were not going to make a fool of themselves, but against Greengrass and Goldstein, he couldn't see their victory.

Merlin. He wondered who set the arrangement, but the smug look on Riddle's eyes told him who. Riddle seemed to have felt vicious eyes stabbing his back and turned to him, the faint gleam in his eyes bordering on excitement as he was challenged to take the top spot despite the unfavorable condition.

Giving one hard and long stare, Harry willed himself to take the crown.

He would be damned if he let Riddle get away with his wishes…

* * *

><p><em>He was running side by side with the tall figure disguised in a black cloak. Their feet pounded at the floor, breaths misty as they fought to go faster. Shouting; more shouting echoed from behind them as those imbeciles caught up with them. <em>_Why were they even here? Harry fought hard to remember but nothing came to him. Frustrated, he propelled himself forward.  
><em>

"_Run, run, run!" the man cried, hurrying him over and over. "You have to leave! Go!" he urged, both hands pushing him. _

_He nodded, turned and paused for a miniscule second, their eyes meeting before he bit his lip in decision and continued to move forward… He would be okay, Harry knew that. Right now, he just had to get himself out of here first, like what he said… It would be okay… He had said so, promised him so...  
><em>

_As he rounded off the corner, there was a loud thud from behind, the sound of a body falling. Unable to resist, Harry turned, his eyes widening in fear and anger at the sight before him._

_A pale, limp body.  
><em>

"_SIRIUS!" _

Panting, Harry took in deep breaths as he sat up, sweating slightly from the dream. Rubbing his eyes uncomfortably while trying to calm his racing heart, he got out of the bed and got dressed, refusing to dwell on that nightmare. That was all it was. A nightmare.

The night was cold and dark; he was sure it was sometime around three o'clock in the morning. There was something about the dream that unsettled him greatly, at the back of his mind yet he could not put his finger to it. The urgency and his lack of knowledge was making him edgy.

Casting a glance towards the book that lay on his table, he debated briefly whether he would do a bit of a late night reading before deciding otherwise. Maybe he would go out and visit the grounds of Hogwarts… maybe he would. The idea sounded tempting.

Peering around and satisfied that none of the other wizards in the room were awake, he crept out of the dorm and was relieved to find an empty common room. The common room was strewn with broken quills and empty ink bottles with spare parchment littered around, showing that the house elves had not yet gotten round to clearing them for the next day. Casting a disillusionment charm, he set along down the corridors of Hogwarts.

He had not known how he had made his way, but two hours later, he found himself at the Entrance Hall, his feet taking him towards the direction of the grounds of Hogwarts. The past two hours had been spent quietly with his thoughts alone as he walked around the grand castle like he had never done before. It was strange how much different Hogwarts looked in the night; dark and silent in contrast to the hustle and bustle during the days.

Strolling along with his heart finally calmed, Harry found a large, comfortable looking tree and settled down beneath it. It was near the lake and he was at peace while he leaned back and watched the serene scenery, the gentle breezing tickling his hair. Over the horizon, dawn was slowly approaching, indicating the start of a new day and the second round of the Dueling Competition.

His eyes closed slowly as he drifted in and out of consciousness, though the dream replayed at the back of his mind persistently. He refused to think about it, choosing instead to feel the soft breeze playing at the edges of his face, willing his eyes to close and his consciousness to fade…

But morning came far too soon. Heart feeling unusually unwilling to leave, he stood up and dusted his robes. By now, the sun was up and the castle of Hogwarts looked alive. The students would have woken up and gone about their daily activities, most probably congregated at the Great Hall in lieu of the competition.

Sighing, he combed a hand through his messy hair and attempted to straighten it slightly to look more presentable as he trudged up the steps and into the Great Hall. Almost immediately, his five senses were overwhelmed with the amount of activity there was as compared to down at the lake. Sharp voices rang incessantly and there was an excessive flurry of movement left right, everywhere.

Another tempus charm indicated that it was close to seven. The Dueling Competition would commence at eight which left him an hour to eat his breakfast. It seemed to fly by; absentmindedly as he was, not really taking in his surroundings. Everything seemed to pass as an indistinct blur to him today, but there was a great sense of trepidation that seemed to fill him. It had nothing to do with the second round, he was sure. Yet the feeling was there, like it had been right at the early morning.

Giving up on trying to decipher his raging emotions, he followed the rest of the students out of the Great Hall while the Professors set up the arena. This time, the students were not so fascinated but the tension was high, especially amongst the competitors. He noted that the first group was congregated amongst themselves, whispering urgently and possibly discussing tactics. He then realized that he had never really gotten around to formulating a plan with his group… but he caught sight of Ronald Weasley who was boasting happily to the other Gryffindors and changed his mind quickly.

There was the case of "special exception", anyway. That would be his life saver.

"Attention please! Gather round, immediately. Competitors, make your way to the front now." Professor McGonagall's irritated voice sounded loudly from within the Great Hall. Lots of pushing ensued as everyone fought to enter the Great Hall. Making a slight detour, Harry found his place at the front.

Waiting patiently as Professor McGonagall started explaining about the duel to the rest of the students, Harry took the time to observe the rest of the students. The members of the first group seemed to be slightly more relaxed and were all situated closely around Draco. Their positions were lose and informal, but it was clear who their leader was. Whereas… well, the second group didn't have a prayer of winning. However talented Harry was, he couldn't save all their worthless arses.

"Ready, eh? Bet you would be gone this time, Potter." A snide voice sounded from his left.

Resisting the urge to move away, Harry turned slowly and fixed the newcomer with a strong glare. The boy proved to be none other than Zacharias Smith, who seemed to have a way of getting on his nerves even more than the normal students. Smith was overly egoistic, proud, with average intelligence but an influential family… all traits that Harry couldn't bear. Especially the man's god-complex; while it might have seemed fitting on Riddle, Smith was nowhere close to possess such certainty and confidence.

He smirked. "If it makes you feel better."

Eyes widened slightly in anger. "You wouldn't dare," Smith hissed softly, taking a step closer but Harry held his hand up. "You're nothing against us." He snorted. "Everyone knows that your group is doomed to fail, no matter your ranking in Hogwarts. Bunch of Gryffindor nitwits."

"I heard…" Harry whispered softly and intrigued the curiosity of Smith who leaned closer. "I heard that your beloved group has an ongoing conspiracy to replace you with me for the third round." Smirking brilliantly now, Harry watched as Smith's face turned red, then purple in interesting stages before stomping off to confront the rest of his group.

Too easy, Harry thought. It was almost laughable and he could very nearly chuckle except for the intense look he saw Professor Riddle gave him. He tensed immediately and turned away, just as Professor McGonagall called for all the groups to enter the arena.

When they were standing in their positions, wand raised, Professor Riddle took over and commanded the situation.

"At the count of three, the timer for fifteen minutes starts counting down. You are clear of the rules and the catch so there will be no adjustments made. In three, two, one…"

Spells flashed in a haphazard manner from the members of the second group. In unison, Draco led the members of the first group to creating a shield charm, successfully deflecting the hexes and casting them back to them. Ducking instead of creating a charm, Harry rolled over and started firing hexes off.

He caught Terry Boot before the boy had a chance to turn and watched as he fell, surprise evident on his face. Not pausing, he turned around and quickly absorbed a stunning spell headed his way, his teeth bared slightly as his eyes narrowed in on the offender who proved to be Daphne Greengrass. Her eyes were alight in a clear challenge and Harry admired her. Abandoning the chase behind him, he leapt after her and proceeded to fire curses.

She was good, Harry had to admit it. Better than many of the others, and therein lay the challenge. Her strength lay in her unique combination of spells which she displayed during the first round with Pansy Parkinson. Twice she took him by surprise which he recovered quickly from.

"Stupefy! Incendio!" he shouted, ducking a flaming red light before shooting the two curses. He saw her twist her body in an attempt to duck them and saw his chance, jumping for it at once. She might have been a good opponent, but he was done playing with her, already itching for the next duel.

"Expelliar-" Daphne cried but she never finished her sentence as a jet of hose-like spray of water shot into her face with tremendous strength, knocking her backwards and soaking her robes completely wet.

"Stupefy," Harry waved his wand lazily and stunned the girl who was caught by surprise. Turning back, he paused for moments to absorb the status of the duel before him. In the few minutes that he had been dueling with Daphne far from the others, much had changed. About half the members of the second group were down, and all but two of the members of the first group were still up. To his surprise, Ronald Weasley was amongst the ones fighting, and though his curses never hit home, he was rather adept at dodging. Harry grunted and focused on the duel, looking for loopholes to target.

"Remember what you said, earlier?" the familiar nasal voice appeared from behind.

Tensing then spinning around and firing the tripping curse, Harry came face to face with Zacharias Smith who looked victorious from behind him. In his hand was two wands, proof of his previous victory.

"Let's see then." Smith continued, grinning while he stepped forward and swiftly brought his wand down with a cutting curse that was borderline lethal.

Swerving out of the way, Harry barely managed to avoid the next to curses and was the triumph in Smith's eyes. A sudden idea flared within him as he feigned weakness from his previous duel with Daphne, deliberately hunching his shoulders forward slightly and making a show of catching his breath, wand held loosely at his side and in his hand.

"Weak already?" Smith sneered, his wand raised high but not cursing. He scoffed at the half-hearted attempt Harry made at hexing him before deflecting it with a casual wave. "And they say you're a _genius_," he spat.

Was Zacharias sore? Harry grinned at the floor, sure that Smith couldn't see his expression. What a petty reason for getting all angry and temperamental at him… he certainly didn't want to see Smith in the round three, but he wanted to have his fun with the arrogant Hufflepuff.

"I… am… smart," Harry said, trying to sound tired as he pretended to struggle to his feet. The look of contempt and disgust evident on Smith's face proved that he had done it correctly and he mentally congratulated himself… for the boy's foolishness.

"Whatever," Smith said with an airy wave of his hand. Dark eyes stared into his for a moment. "You're not worth my time. All talk."

He certainly did sound sore, Harry mused but continued his act and took two steps back, well aware that he was at the edge of the platform.

"Weak," Smith continued, still advancing forward even as Harry casted a weak disarming charm that was absorbed easily. "Stupefy!" he cried, finally making his move to throw him off the platform.

Leaping forward, Harry collided with Smith as he narrowly avoided that red jet of light and caught the other boy unawares. There was a lot of jostling involved as they each fought to regain their control but Harry wouldn't have it, not until he was satisfied. Pulling his elbow back, he elbowed the Hufflepuff's face and heard his nose fracture with an audible crack, satisfying that inner being within him immensely. A garbled yell of pain and he shove the boy away from him, disgusted by his mere presence.

Pushing himself to an upright position, he sneered at the weak boy on the floor, their positions reversed from earlier on.

"Weak?" he whispered and leaned closer, grabbing Smith by his robes. "Wonder who said it," he could not help that smirk.

And he left the boy there, knowing that he was in too much pain to continue in the duel and would be disqualified by one of the teachers soon. He refused to grant the boy the pleasure of a stunning curse and being void of the pain until he was healed but it didn't mean …

"Expelliarmus," he said clearly as the two wands in Smith's hand flew towards him. The boy was in too much pain to realize what had happened and Harry snorted. Even though the wands would be returned to their masters after the end of the duel, it didn't mean he couldn't keep them for now.

Making his way back to the other end of the platform where the majority of the duelers were congregated, Harry noted that there was just four minutes of the duel left. With four members of the first group – Draco, Goldstein, Adams and Lont – standing and only him with Theodore Nott left, the winner of the duel was pretty much fixed.

Jogging over to where Nott was frantically trying to hold up against the four duelers, he sent more spells flying their way and joined in their fray. There was a deep set look of grim determination as Draco registered his presence and immediately targeted on him. The other three members followed his lead and turned their concentration to the new invader, the spells flying his way instead of Nott's. Praying that Theodore would live up to his Slytherin house and make use of the time while he was keeping the others distracted, Harry fired back spells of his own.

"_Tredorna!"_ he shouted, the wand brandished in a complicated movement before opening a wide crater in the middle of the dueling platform. There were screams as the members of the first group tried to avoid the crater that had opened beneath their feet; the smarter ones were quick to jump or levitate themselves, but Adams was not so lucky, her feet slipping as she went down, crying weakly at the spectacular fall.

"Incendio!" Lont yelled, shouting the same spell over and over once he was on safe ground. "Incendio, Incendio!" Little fires started blazing around him and he quickly extinguished them together with Nott.

Another glance at the clock. Two minutes left.

"I'll take Nott and you finish Potter!" Lont screamed to Draco and Goldstein as he turned his curses to Theodore.

"Go," Harry urged, pushing the Slytherin away. "I'll be fine here."

"But –" Nott protested wildly, unwilling to move.

Harry paid him no heed as curses from Draco and Goldstein flew his way. He was conjuring mirrors and deflecting them, and wondering what he level he should take the duel up to when Nott's cry rang from behind him.

Spinning round, he saw that the boy had lost his concentration and slipped, the wand flying from his hand and into the crater that he had previously created. Even as Harry raised his wand to disarm Lont, he was too late for Nott's limp body was already falling to the ground the same instant as Lont's wand flew to him.

With four wands now within his grasp, there was a new sense of power and control. If he could just get to Goldstein, then there could be a _tie._ The professors hadn't mentioned about a tie, but it could definitely warrant an exception. And with all circumstances, this seemed like the best alternative he had if he didn't want to draw more attention to himself by blasting the other two off the platform with a borderline-legal curse he wasn't _quite_ supposed to know of.

"You'll take left and I'll go right!" Draco hissed to Goldstein as they watch Lont limp off the platform in defeat.

Spells started gaining in on Harry; with less than a minute to go, they were attacking viciously whilst he defended himself and was restricted to simple stunning spells, trying to get under their shields.

"Velusa!" Goldstein cried, wand waving around wildly. There was a large black curtain that was conjured, quickly enveloping him. Recognizing what it was, a sudden idea came to him. Hurriedly dodging under those black folds, he ran underneath it and towards Goldstein, who had presumed he was lost within the maze of black.

Then he reappeared, head first then his wand arm. Never mind that the rest of his body was underneath the covers, because he just needed a shot at Goldstein, who was caught unawares as he jumped backwards.

"_Stupefy,"_ he said, watching in grim satisfaction as the light hit the target.

There was a second's pause before a loud buzzer sounded right on time, indicating the end of the tournament. Harry stood up, trying to regain his balance as he surveyed the destroyed arena; Adams was still inside the crater that looked impressive.

"It seems that…" Professor McGonagall stepped forward, catching the attention of the students whose head turned towards her. "We have a tie!"

There were more claps and hoots from the students who started shouting excitedly suggestions of who to bring to the next round. Trampling and jostling ensued as they fought to get a better look at the two remaining champions who were ushered down the platform. While waiting for the professors to come to a conclusion, Harry found himself next to Draco and decided to be the bigger man, congratulating the blond Draco for his performance.

"You did great. The Professors were proud of you," he said, watching Draco who looked slightly disappointed with himself.

Draco shook the fallen hair out of his face as his grey eyes stared into Harry's for a long time before he said quietly, "Not as well as you. You've managed to reverse the positions in such a short time, and they were four of us. If time had permitted…" he trailed off and there was not a need to finish the sentence. They both knew Draco would have fallen too.

He shrugged, not wanting to dwell further on the topic when the Malfoy heir was in low spirits.

Moving away, he saw that the Professors had already sorted out the winners and inched closer for a better look. Riddle whipped up a scroll of paper and strode forward confidently to the stage, all eyes automatically following his authoritative form.

"Due to the tie, there seems to be a change in the selections." Whispers filled the hall. "However, the Professors have acknowledged the better performance overall for the members of the first group, as well as the sole talent from the second group which allowed said group to achieve a tie. As such, we have decided to implement the case of a special exception."

"Professor!" Weasley cried from the crowd, agitated. Those around him elbowed him to silence.

Riddle ignored the outburst. "Those qualifying to the final round of the Dueling Competition would be Draco Malfoy, Antony Goldstein, Sue Adams, Cassius Lont, Zacharias Smith, Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter."

Outraged whispers from the members of the second group sounded; in particular was Weasley who was shouting about his performance right down to the wonderful spells he had used in an attempt to outshine some of the finalists. Glancing over to Terry Boot – the sole member from the first group that did not qualify for the finals – he found the Ravenclaw to be crestfallen, though quietly so. The previous excitement had dimmed and he was looking morose, but with his friends around him comforting him.

Watching the students file out one by one, Harry took his time to gather his bag with all his books at the far end of the Hall right at the Ravenclaw table. By the time he had reached there, the only ones left in the Hall were a few stragglers and the Professors who looked to be still discussing about the match.

Turning, he sighed after remembering that the next class would be Defense against the Dark Arts and trudged in its general direction when a harried-looking Professor Dumbledore came striding quickly into the Great Hall. Curious, he paused and watched as Professor Dumbledore excused Riddle and Professor Flitwick before whispering urgently to them. Whatever that the Professor was concerned about seemed rather grave, and he looked to be in a hurry as well. Remembering that the Board of Directors was due to have a meeting that day after the conclusion of the Dueling Competition, Harry supposed that could be the reason why Dumbledore was in a rush.

He hadn't expected however, Riddle to nod curtly before turning directly to face him. And he certainly hadn't expected Riddle to walk over to him – Flitwick following behind quickly – before stopping. Over his shoulder, Dumbledore glanced at him, blue eyes filled with worry before he disappeared behind the oak doors, leaving him with an increasing sense of suspense.

"Professor Riddle?" Harry tried to keep his voice calm as he directed the question to Riddle; that niggling feeling of worry he felt since the morning returning tenfold. Dumbledore's worry and the urgency which seemed to concern him…. All this didn't seem to bode well.

"Mr Potter –" Professor Flitwick's higher pitched voice said anxiously but was interrupted by Riddle.

Cold crimson eyes bored into him for the longest time, assessing him before those lips parted.

"Sirius Black is dead."


	8. Word of Goodbye

**{A/N} **Title credit to DBSK's Stand By U.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

"You lie," Harry hissed, seething. He shuddered at the pure rush of adrenaline as his magic crackled in the air, seizing him up with the mere power.

Not bothering with his wand, he leapt forward and hauled the healer by his robes, slamming him to the wall forcefully, ignoring the piteous whimper. Eyes casting downwards to the name that was embroidered on the robes, he sneered in distaste.

"Zachary…" he drawled, savoring the words at the tip of his tongue; the healer nodded desperately. "You are a healer, are you not? It is your duty to heal him." His grip on the robes tightened in fury, white knuckles visible for all to see.

The healer stammered nervously, waving his wand in an attempt to throw him off but was overpowered easily. Lips curling in contempt, Harry reached forward and forcefully snapped the wand out of Zachary's grip, pinning him further to the wall and relishing at the cry of fear he elicited.

"M- Mr Potter!" the healer squeaked anxiously, full blown panic evident in his eyes as he struggled to get free. "I understand you're taken aback and plagued with grief over the loss of your guardian, but this is against the Ministry's code of –"

"It does not bother me," Harry said coldly, detached; eyes surveying the healer in disgust. "However, it does greatly concern me on how you failed to do your job, despite your highly acclaimed _accomplishments_." He cocked his head to the side, watching in great derision as Zachary twisted in an attempt to free himself. Really, was there a need to try? The hand around the healer's throat tightened; frightful eyes darted back and forth at the two professors who had been standing at the side observing carefully.

Footsteps approached and Harry heard the voice of his Professor, droning within his mind, yet he ignored it forcefully.

Because Sirius…Sirius was dead, had been killed; the healers were inadequate, blundering fools and Sirius was gone because of their failure to treat him. His mind was blocked, all sense of rationality gone; he had not felt this blind rage since before he could remember, but all he could think of were the ways that the bones of the healer would snap under his grip, along with the _pleasurable _tortured screams.

He clenched his fist tightly.

There was an insistent tug at his robes, snapping him out of his vicious thoughts. The next moment, Professor Flitwick's high voice squeaked from beside him anxiously.

"Mr Potter, take control of yourself at once! Though upset you might be, this is no way you can treat the healer! He had done his best in regards to Lord Black here, yet there are circumstances of which even the most skilled is unable-"

Harry paid no heed to Flitwick, eyes still boring the healer's with the promise of slow torture as he focused on his purpose. There was a long silence, broken only by the sniffles of the healer when a sudden cold hand pressed upon his shoulder.

The aura of magic that accompanied the hand was familiar enough, yet it was the jolt of the touch that brought him back to his senses, clearing that fog within his brain like a drug. Stiffening, he stilled himself for a brief second before tilting his eyes upwards to meet Riddle's. There was a look of warning within the eyes of his professor, clearly warning him to _behave_, before the hand on him tightened uncontrollably; yet the touch was oddly assuring and comforting to Harry.

Gritting his teeth, he released the healer; emotionless eyes watched as the man fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap, scratching his throat in agitation and gasping for air.

"I apologize," he said impassively, voice dropping an octave.

The healer did not seem to register his words as he struggled to get into an upright position, though wisely keeping a fair bit of distance away from him.

"I think it is best for you to leave," Riddle suggested stoically to the frozen healer who was still sprawled on the floor, trembling.

There was a long moment's struggle before the wizard managed to stand, albeit shakily and without waiting, he bolted from the room. The loud footsteps echoed along the corridors even as the door swung close. Behind it, Harry could hear the frantic shouts of the healer but he ignored it.

The long silence following the departure of the healer was deafening for all in the room, but he could not pause to think about the possible consequences of his actions. Try as he might, he could not find any more distraction to stall him from facing the inevitable. Turning back, he came face to face with the cold body of Sirius and froze, as if registering the entire situation for the first time.

Lying there not ten feet away from him was Sirius… the shadow of his godfather. Sirius who looked cold, frozen for all eternity, never to wake again, never to bother Harry with his boisterous laughter and attempts to excite him… Sirius who was lying upon the sheets of white, his body startlingly pale, the usual happy grin wiped completely off the blank face… Sirius who was never going to step into Number 12 Grimmauld Place, to live with him, to yell at the portrait of Walburga Black, to bring him rare moments of laughter as he coaxed him to take a ride on his bike…

"Sirius…" Harry whispered, a hand trailing down the face of his godfather, an unexplainable emotion bubbling at his heart. It felt as though a small portion of him was lost to the winds; previously, he had never stopped to consider the importance of his godfather in his life. Admittedly, they weren't the closest, yet Sirius had been a safe haven for him, never wavering even during his darkest times. There was never a time when his godfather wasn't there during the rare occasion when Harry needed him; it was as though Sirius was a pillar in his life, a pillar he had never stopped to acknowledge or recognize. And with this sudden collapse of that pillar, he felt as though a large part of his security was ripped away in an instant.

Because that was true. He was now vulnerable: to the wizarding community, to the maniac purebloods that constantly sought to plot the downfall of each other behind the gleaming smiles, to the war, to Dumbledore, to the unknown Dark Lord… he had been coping well previously, because he had always the alternative of _Sirius_. Sirius who would never waver, who had always stood by him, behind the scenes… Now he was all alone in the world, with no family, no friends and many possibilities ahead. Was he ready? To step out of his comfort zone and embrace the unknown? Was he really ready?

He was never going to have the choice of remaining neutral because it was time to face the winds. There was not going to be anything to tie him down; the death of his guardian meant emancipation. He was a seventh-year, top student, with a few months to being a legal adult in the wizarding world. There was little reason for him not to be granted and upon approval, he would now resume the title of Lord Potter and Lord Black. He didn't have the freedom of a few months to wait and consider the possibilities of the war because he was now _legal._

He was in the war as much as any other adult; he didn't have the excuse of being a minor to concentrate on his research on ancient magic anymore, of all the mysteries that surrounded him…

Mysteries, dreams… Was this what the dream signified? A startling realization dawned upon him. Could the dream had been foretelling of the death of Sirius? They had been running in the Ministry of Magic, but why would Sirius had been escaping from the Ministry after all? He worked in the Ministry; he was respected and commanded a fair amount of authority as one of the Head Aurors. Though, he acknowledged, the dream could have meant nothing but a mere coincidence…

He wasn't a seer, that much he knew, ruling out that possibility entirely. Yet, he thought –another idea lighting within his mind – there was speculation that wizards and witches were all interconnected through their magical cores. It meant that those who were attuned with each other – families, close friends and such – could feel the distress of another in extreme situations. Was the dream a portrayal of Sirius's distress? Sleep was a highly vulnerable time unlike any other, whereby every and any force could attack his defenses… If he had realized it earlier, could he have helped Sirius? Would his godfather still be alive…?

But staring down at Sirius's pale face, confusion heightened within him for no tears came. After the brief moments of denial, doubt, shock and anger, it was all replaced by an empty, thudding silence which he could not fathom, try as he might. He was supposed to feel grieved by the loss of his last family, was he not?

"Perhaps you should see to the registration, Filius," Riddle's voice said from behind, finally bringing to an end his minutes of self doubt and endless questioning.

There was the sound of hushed and heated conversation between the unwilling Professor Flitwick and the commanding Riddle. At last, Flitwick conceded, shuffling towards the door while muttering angrily to himself.

Ignoring Riddle and the fact that they were the only two left in the room, Harry pulled out the chair and settled next to Sirius's bed, observing his godfather silently while trying to imprint the face into his memories. His mind was in a state of blank with hundreds of thoughts racing through, yet none of which he comprehended. Grief… the word replayed mindlessly; he was supposed to feel grieved. The words sounded foreign even in his mind.

Underneath the dulled rage and the dread of the impending decisions he had to make, he couldn't feel the presence of grief. He missed his godfather, wished that the tragedy had never happened, he knew. He was furious at the incompetence of the healers, infuriated enough to have had caused serious injuries if he wasn't stopped by Riddle… but he did not feel the extreme sorrow, the grief…

"You acted with impulse." Harry did not turn to the speaker from behind him. "Against your better judgment."

Footsteps echoed as Riddle moved to stand beside him, quietly observing Sirius alongside, though the gaze was impassionate and utterly bored. In the span of his illustratious career, death was not a novel experience for Riddle, Harry assumed. The man probably felt nothing about the mechanics of life and death; if the rumours of the life young Tom Riddle had to go through held truth, then he must have accepted that death was simply part and parcel of life.

"A heart attack," Harry said quietly, still looking at Sirius. His godfather _was_ young, he realized belatedly. There were barely any lines etched on his face which still maintained a youthful glow…

Reaching forward, he took one of the hands into his own, enveloping it and shuddering just the slightest at the coldness that greeted him. A few moments went by as he tried to formulate his thoughts into a proper sentence before he spoke.

"They said he passed on because of a simple heart attack. An attack that is fatal to muggles but curable by healers if help was administered in time. Sirius was in the Ministry during that time…" he finally raised his head to meet Riddle's carefully blanked eyes. "He was in the Ministry on duty at that time," he repeated, staring into the impassionate crimson. "It is impossible for no one to have realized."

"Accidents happen. Mr Black happened to have an unfortunate attack befall upon him at the wrong time," Riddle said dismissively, yet his expression clearly said otherwise, drawing him in.

"My godfather was healthy," he repeated as if the man were thick.

"It happens from time to time," the man countered, hands folding across his chest in indifference.

Harry stood up, the chair scraping across the floor loudly, breaking that ominous silence within the room. Striding forward, he closed the remaining distance between them and stared into the challenging eyes of his professor who stood his ground. The few moments of silence allowed him to realize that the raging, wild emotions tormenting him previously had dulled immensely within the presence of Riddle.

He shook his head slightly, clearing his unwanted thoughts.

"He was murdered and you know it." The sentence was blunt. He wanted to Riddle to react, to confirm his suspicions instead of remaining in that same detachment. He wanted Riddle to show some emotions for once.

And he had no idea why he was telling Riddle that. Riddle, of all people should have been the last to understand the way he felt, and the reasoning he had before he came to that conclusion. Riddle, who was incapable of feeling and understanding for all except for himself. The man could act, could pretend to, but when the truth came down to it, he didn't understand the way emotions worked.

But Riddle… he was influential and intelligent. So much so that it was dangerous, yet it meant that he had to know something. People like Sirius didn't get murdered without a reason; rich, powerful and with a high-ranking job within the Ministry: these were not simple murders that will be casted away in a mere second. There had to be reasoning behind it, a rationale behind it.

And whilst the healers proclaimed that Sirius had passed on because of nature, Harry begged to differ, over and over. The man was healthy and witches and wizards were unlike common, plain muggles who could collapse as and when. They had a highly structured magical core that sufficiently erased that possibility almost every single time.

Yet it was the circumstances itself that made it so suspicious. It was during the night shift and he knew for a fact that the Aurors on night shift had partners which they stuck to all day long. And he also knew that Sirius tended to spend the majority of his night shifts in the Auror Headquarters with his partner, waiting for an alert that came through.

It meant that someone had known of this; someone had snuck in when his partner was away, for a break or some sort and did his job. A heart-stopping curse was uncommon but simpler to cast than the Avada Kedavra curse, which meant that a greater number of people were able to cast is successfully. It didn't cause immediate death, but rendered the victim in the same pain that an average muggle had to go through before the heart eventually failed. It took five minutes before the curse would become lethal – almost ten minutes before any help administered would be deemed useless.

"It is simple enough a conclusion to reach," the man said, a small smile quirking at the edge of the lips but Harry remained unmoved by his dry humor. A hand snaked up his back and held him in place before the lips parted. "Tell me, how do you feel when news of your guardian's death reached you? Grieved? Sorrowful?" The voice was all-knowing, a cruel muse, intently stabbing the inner-most soul of Harry's heart.

"You know," Harry whispered, remaining in place. For the first time since his entire exchange with Riddle for the past seven years, he felt uncertain, like the small child he was before him.

The words were like knives to his thoughts, repeatedly. Riddle knew; he knew that Harry was incapable of feeling sorrow and grief, even in face of the death of the person he might have held most dearly in the world. While Sirius had been the closest person to know him, there was still a large immeasurable distance Harry had always felt, and Sirius had always chosen to either deny or ignore, to focus on the positives of lighting up his life instead.

"It would have been easy to tell for anyone who knew where to look."

"You couldn't have known."

And Riddle couldn't have, despite his intelligence. Harry was sure, so sure.

"You could never tell," the man smirked, looking predatory with that grin. "That aside, I had worked in the Ministry before. I foresaw the death of your godfather; he meddled in things he should have better left alone. Things that couldn't sit well with the Ministry, Lord and Auror or not."

Harry broke away from Riddle's hold suddenly, eyes falling on Sirius's immobile form. For a long time, neither of them spoke, but he could feel the crimson eyes observing him intently.

"The Department of Mysteries."

Riddle made a non-committal hum before pacing around the room, observing it silently.

"It was the work of the Department of Mysteries," Harry continued relentlessly. "Though the heart-stopping curse is fairly easy to cast in comparison to the Avada Kedavra, it is not widely known amongst the Wizarding Community and only those who have studied magic in depth would have come across it. The Department of Mysteries fits the bill."

Footsteps neared him.

"Child, child, you couldn't possibly pin all this to the Department of Mysteries because of that one speculation?" the voice crooned at his ear, mockingly.

Irritated, he pushed the man away to take a step back, distrustful eyes surveying him before he spoke. "There had been rumours circulating around that Department, has there not been? And they were rumors that Sirius had known, that Sirius had been intrigued by; curiosity was never a strength of my godfather's, but a weakness. A devastating weakness that unfortunately controlled him at times."

The previously dulled emotions came back to life at full force and he leapt forward, grabbing the robes of Riddle. Warning hands crept up to his neck and held him in his place, demonstrating the control the older man had despite their position but Harry refused to let his grip slack on Riddle, tightening his fist further.

Lips curled. "You _know_ why and I will find out the truth."

An indescribable emotion danced across the eyes of Riddle, which seemed to have brightened almost ominously. Smirking, the man tugged, catching him unawares and pulling him towards the chest where his head was subsequently buried. A hand clasped at his neck, preventing him from making any form of escape. Furious, Harry pulled at the man with the fist clasping around the robes but the hold was too strong.

There was a low, throaty chuckle at his futile attempts and Harry could feel Riddle's chest rumbling… oddly _comforting_ him. There was a long pause as he closed his eyes, clearing his mind while waiting for Riddle's answer.

"For my knowledge, what will you give me in return?"

Riddle released him, though the eyes were still observing him intently. Not giving the older man the satisfaction of watching him cower away, Harry remained rooted in his spot, glaring whilst he contemplated.

"Your complete and whole knowledge?" Harry pressed, decidedly ignoring Riddle's previous actions and concentrating on what he wanted.

"Certainly," the smirk was wide which made him wary at once. "I have no losses."

His eyes narrowed. "And in exchange for that, what would I have to sacrifice?"

If possible, Riddle's eyes were alight in positive glee, an emotion he had never seen before; yet it struck him as powerful and dangerous, heightening that sense of risk within him. If he agreed… if he were to agree with Riddle, there would be no turning back. The Professor would never allow him to escape the stronghold.

"A favor to be repaid. A wizard's debt."

Glowing eyes widened in fury. "No," he snapped without considering.

The wizard's debt was the highest level of favor that any wizard could owe to another. There was no backing out because the consequences would be death and even so, just by defying the favor was as difficult as breaking the Imperius Curse... an attempt Harry wasn't sure he could accomplish, having not been placed under the curse before. As such, it was automatic that the debt be created when a wizard was saved by another from death, but under other circumstances, it was not a complete necessity. The wizard's debt were hardly ever issued willingly and the _gall_ of Riddle to demand him as such!

"You would be content to leave your godfather's death surrounded in a web full of lies and deceit then?" At his impassive expression, Riddle continued, raising an eyebrow. "No, you might not have felt _sorrow_ upon his death, but your twisted sense of justice and inherited loyalty is enough to render you incapable of peace until you avenge him. Am I correct?"

Harry took an automatic step back, eyes filled with mistrust as he shook his head. Yet what Riddle said rang true within his mind, reverberating endlessly, tormenting him. The man could read him from inside out, could see what he really thought… Harry felt like he was trapped within the depths of Riddle, never able to run out of the never-ending pool.

But he would. Riddle might have gotten one-up over him now, but there was nothing else the man had on him… was there? There was no one else that he would bend his neck for, no one else but Sirius… it was just this once, although admittedly, the repercussions of his agreement could go a long way, depending on how the man wanted the favor to be repaid.

"A wizard's debt then," he agreed calmly. Riddle's eyes widened slightly in surprise at his decisiveness but the expression was smoothed in the next second as lips curled in satisfaction.

"Rather decisive I see," the tone was pleased.

"I see no need to drag over something as pointless as this, knowing the conclusion it would have been right from the start," he shot back. "The bonder?" he spat, bitterly.

Riddle chuckled, eyeing him with some sort of sympathy that left him feeling wary and irritated. The wandering hand found its way to his face again, grasping it tightly as he tilted his face right then left, observing him carefully. Eyes narrowing at that gesture, Harry chose to keep his calm, remaining stoic.

"Clever as you might be, Harry," Riddle crooned and he shuddered at the use of his name. It was the first time that he had heard the man say it outright and it had sent pleasurable shivers down his back. "There is much magic you heard not of."

Releasing him in satisfaction, Riddle's wand snapped into his hand in an instant. Grasping their hands together, Harry watched in apprehension and curiosity as his Professor murmured a long string of Latin incantation, effectively binding their magic over the mutual agreement.

When Riddle opened his eyes signaling the end of the bonding spell, Harry took a step back immediately, eyes casting downwards in sheer instinct and was relieved to find that there was nothing wrong or different with him. Some types of bonding tended to render one of the parties with a painfully degrading mark, effectively branding them for life. These were especially used during the Greek era for the slaves to be bound to their masters in a way that they would be easily identified even if they attempted to escape. It certainly was something that he didn't quite need, to be branded by Riddle. Or anyone for that matter.

Glancing upwards slightly uncertainly, Harry examined himself further and was finally satisfied to know that all was as fine as it could be. It looked as though he was being overly paranoid, but with Riddle being the one casting the charm, he could never be too sure. Better safe than sorry.

"I-" Harry began but was rudely interrupted when the door swung open.

Spinning around, he took one long stride towards the offender and his eyes turned cold instantly when faced with the sight before him. Two female healers had entered the room and with them was a white stretcher that was levitated.

"Rather efficient with the after procedures, aren't we?" He could not help the bitter tone that came through. Eyeing the stretcher in sheer distaste, he drawled, "Pity that the same doesn't apply to treatment."

He stepped forward, meeting the gaze of the first healer levelly. He could not help but notice the way she cringed at his imposing figure. Though he was not as tall as some of the Hogwarts students, he was a good head taller than her.

"It has not been two hours since I had been informed." He continued, enjoying the way the atmosphere turned cold at his frost.

"Mr Potter, I'm afraid that there have been orders from the Department that we clear the room immediately for –" the distressed healer rambled quickly, voice squeaking in her nervousness. Her colleague who was levitating the stretcher joined her tirade, impatiently gesturing and attempting to explain to him, none of which he registered.

"… there is a shortage of rooms and it is with utmost regrets that we have to transfer Mr Black out and into the –"

"You are a witch, are you not?" he whispered coldly. "Make space."

"Mr Potter!" the healer exclaimed.

"You heard him. Leave us alone and we will clear the room in two hours," a fourth voice joined in the fray. Surprised eyes turned towards Riddle who had been lurking at the back of the room for the past minutes. The tall and intimidating man commanded all attention instantly, and the healers cowered at the mere sight of him, bowing quickly.

"I'm afraid –"

There was a jab in the ribs from the shorter healer as she glared at her partner, quelling her immediately. Said healer gave a deep bow in utmost respect.

"If that is what you wish for, Lord Riddle, it will be arranged at once. However, we have to request for the body to be taken away, even if the room shall remain." The tone was perfectly polite and accommodating, in contrast to the previously heated tenure it held.

Swallowing heavily, Harry gave one last lingering glance at his godfather on the bed. The cold frozen body… He knew that the body had to be taken away, but would it have to be so quickly? It had barely been hours…

Tearing his eyes away with finality, he gave one jerky nod. Refusing the urge to turn around once more, he walked towards the window, choosing to stare out of it and to the green grass outside, a deep melancholy feeling bubbling within his chest at the thought of never seeing his godfather again.

Behind him here was minimal scuffling as the two healers quickly backed away, the door slamming shut behind them.

Riddle glided over to one of the chairs at the end of the room, settling himself down comfortably. Even in the black plastic chair, Harry could not deny the impressive aura the way the man held himself and chuckled, despite the bitter feelings within his heart.

"This is the ability of power, status and control." At his skeptical look, Riddle motioned him over to the other seat across him. Stiffly, Harry made his way over and settled down on the chair, staring far above his professor's head and at the hand-drawn portrait of Diagon Alley on the wall.

"You may have been able to get your way in the end, but it is with utmost time, effort and sheer endurance of their impudence."

"And your point?" Harry said darkly, finally tearing his eyes away from the portrait, not liking the conversation at all. Granted, he was not as smooth a charmer as Riddle, or as influential and high up in the social ladder, but surely he wasn't as bad as he was being made to sound like? "We are discussing the death of my godfather here. I wish to avenge him and bring about justice."

"Justice?" the man mocked, raising an eyebrow delicately. "What form of justice are we implying here? The law?" The heavy contempt for the Ministry was evident. "Or perhaps justice through the use Unforgivables?" There was a predatory grin at this; Harry had never quite seen Riddle look so alive but he found himself oddly appreciating it… It was the first time he had shown him a different side to himself other than his persona at Hogwarts.

And it was infinite times better.

"I suppose we won't know, will we?" Harry replied, watching as crimson eyes darkened in amusement.

There was a languid wave of Riddle's wand as two glasses filled with deep red liquid were conjured. Without waiting, Harry reached out and grabbed hold of one of the glasses, downing the liquid within it quickly. It burned at his throat but in a pleasurable way that cleared his mind and allowed his tense muscles to loosen slightly for the weight to be lifted off his shoulders, if only temporarily.

"I find myself intrigued by the latter. I would imagine that you would look rather _delectable_ as you pursue down they who haunted your godfather," Riddle said merrily, pausing to sip at his drink.

"Honored as I might be, the possibility of you watching that scene is next to none. Yet how far have we gone into the afters when those killers have not yet been caught? Sirius's death has been a day."

Riddle did not back down. On the contrary, he looked deep in thought, another side that Harry had not yet seen. After all, there weren't many times whereby the brilliant Professor had to work to think during his career in Hogwarts.

"And so we are discussing his untimely death which has unfortunately, rather severe repercussions on you. The dead cannot speak, cannot feel, but it is fate's most cruel gift to cast upon their burdens to the living ones." Crimson eyes leveled with his, knowingly. "You bear upon the heavy burden as the Lord of two of the most powerful houses recognized not only in Britain, but internationally."

"I don't see how it affects you," Harry said neutrally, eyeing Riddle warily. The man seemed to have his own plans for him; he wanted nothing of it. He wasn't planning to be one of the puppets of war, strung up by the two opposing Lords as their chess pieces. At the thought of it, his hold on the wine glass tightened.

There was a warm chuckle as the man surveyed Harry as if he knew what was going on within his head. "Child…" he crooned again. Harry resisted the urge to shiver as the word sent a pleasurable shock down his spine. "You have no idea what you are saying."

Harry ignored the words and leaned back on his chair, contemplating deeply. "That… issue can be shelved aside for now." Grimacing at the thought of the paperwork that needed to be filed for the emancipation, he chose not to dwell upon it. "The emancipation takes a month to be approved. Sirius's death however, is far more pressing." Glowing green eyes narrowed as he went straight to the point. "Did the Ministry of Magic have a hand in his death?"

The returning gaze was unwavering. "Yes." The answer was short and clipped. Riddle betrayed no part of his emotions with his expressionless face, save for those wandering eyes that were focused on him intently. Harry refused to let it waver him, drilling on relentlessly for answers that he had been bound to.

"The Department of Mysteries?" he pressured.

"Perhaps so," the older man waved a hand languidly, eyes light with amusement and patience.

Frustrated, Harry resisted the urge to run a hand through his messy hair. If Riddle that bastard wanted to play the game this way then he had something coming; he was not in his most patient of moods currently, especially with the heavy price he had paid. "You can do much better, _Professor_," he snapped.

"As do your questions," came the quick reply, lips quirking. "Nonetheless, while I trust myself to be all-knowing, it does take time before suspicions fall into conclusions. I have my hunches yet they are mere speculation as of now." Riddle lifted the glass to his lips and took a long sip. "As to your question on the Department of Mysteries…" he cocked his head to the side, observing him. "I would say that the possibility is large as you have emphasized earlier. The Department is in the midst of an important planning and your godfather _willingly _meddled in their affairs."

"Spare me the words in his disservice." Harry hissed, leaning forward and across the table, face merely inches away from Riddle's. "What is going on in the Department of Mysteries?"

He was unprepared for the hand that clasped around his neck, pinning him in place. Harry became aware of his uncomfortable position and immediately shifted, but in the next second, the table holding his weight vanished from beneath him, along with the two glasses. Eyes widening in surprise, he fell against Riddle who pulled him onto his lap.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, emerald green eyes furious.

Gleeful eyes met his own as the trace of a smirk graced Riddle's lips. "Much better," the man drawled, savoring the words at the tip of his tongue. At his stiff expression, he continued almost innocently, "Was it not your intention? To come _closer?_" To demonstrate his point, the grip on him tightened.

"You'd better give me answers," Harry flushed despite himself, indicating his position. He might have been overreacting, seeing that he was feeling _quite_ comfortable, but this was _Riddle_, his Professor, _ex-_Deputy Minister of Britain and the man that was _somewhat_ connected with Dark Lords. Sitting on the man's lap was over the line…

Even if it was the man himself that had pushed him to it.

Another chuckle.

Merlin, was the man chuckling too much today? He seemed to be in a rather good mood, contrary to Harry's darker feelings that were bubbling underneath the surface. Glaring pointedly at the older, he refrained from jabbing Riddle's ribs. Now that would not settle well with the arrogant man…

Finally humoring him at last, Riddle began slowly, "The Department of Mysteries has been involved in many abstract aspects of magic, a few of which includes prophecies, time, space, human anatomy, obscure magical creatures and strange magical artifacts…" Harry nodded. That much was not unheard of. "Yet the latest uproar caused in the Ministry is thought to be connected to the fourth sector: magical artifacts."

He shifted to face Riddle, curiosity heightening within him. "They are studying magical artifacts?"

A cold smile was playing on Riddle's lips as he shook his head slightly. Harry opened his mouth to ask but a cold finger pressed upon his lips, silencing him effectively. Eyes narrowing at the intruding finger, the man spoke before he could curse the finger off him.

"No, they're _acquiring_ magical artifacts. An artifact in particular, is of rather important relevance to the Ministry. Top secret and well guarded."

Harry could not help but notice Riddle's tone which took a dark highlight that bordered upon calculative. Was Riddle by any chance interested in this magical artifact as well…? That would explain the man's reaction to it and the calculation which meant that he was definitely plotting to get his hands on it.

And somehow he looked forward to it.

He pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you will tell me what that artifact is?"

"Clever child," the man praised. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry leaned back, contemplating. He now had the brief depiction on the motives of murder – it was to silence Sirius who had known too much. Revolving around an obscure magical artifact, the Department of Mysteries were focused on acquiring it supposedly for their studies and research upon it. Was the artifact really so precious to ensure complete obscurity around it?

Yes, he decided. It could be potentially dangerous, especially when the war was imminent.

The war… could the artifact had something to do with the war? It was uncommon, but not unheard of after all. Ranging from artifacts such as Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, Godric Gryffindor's famed sword, the ancient artifacts did have a certain value that tended to aid in times of war.

"I can almost see your thoughts," a quiet voice murmured at his ear, hands tightening around his waist. "It will reveal itself in due time, I can only ask for your patience."

"Why?" Harry whispered suddenly, breaking off from his former train of thoughts. "Why did you force my hand for a wizard's debt?"

The penetrating stare was deep and unrelenting for a long moment. "It would have been of use in the future," the man admitted unabashedly.

"You're planning something," Harry deadpanned, his hold on Riddle's shoulder tightening impeccably.

"Child…" he hissed, hand snaking up his back and holding him in place. Crimson eyes darkened. "Do not assume that I will share all with you just because I give you more leeway."

"Really? I had no idea," Harry drawled, anger stirring within him. Pushing himself off Riddle, he stood, back turned as he paced around the room and to the bed that Sirius had so recently vacated, intending to put more space between himself and the man. Really, what had he been thinking, wrapped up around Riddle's little finger and slumped in his hold?

He was surprised by the sudden arms enveloping him from the back.

"I confess myself intrigued of you…" the husky voice of Riddle started from behind him, his nose caressing his cheek in an almost intimate gesture. Unused to such gestures, Harry stiffened.

"Child…" Riddle chided at his stillness.

"But you must understand, Professor, that I will not be able to trust your words until I figure out what you have planned for me." Dancing out of Riddle's lax grip, he spun around to face the man. Crimson and emerald green dueled, before Harry finally sighed, asking a question that had been puzzling since the start of Hogwarts.

"What… What is so special about Draco?"

The second the words left his mouth, an _unsatisfied_ expression crossed Riddle's face before he quickly smoothed his expression into a blank, cocky mask. "Jealous?" the tone was smug and it infuriated Harry more than it should have.

"Curious," he replied curtly, eyes flashing suspiciously. "It is not like your character to treat one as such, after all. Well?"

Riddle frowned, absentmindedly tracing a finger at his cheek, eyes staring far away into the distance. Seconds ticked by. "His father… Lucius and I are close friends." There was a slight grimace towards the end of the answer which looked as though it had taken a lot out of Riddle to express.

"Really?" Harry hummed, skeptical. Jerking away, he moved further out of the room and towards the door. "Because unless you try for some truths, I don't think there's any need for me to stay any longer. You owe me answers, Riddle," he said, voice hardening. "Plenty of them. Starting from Sirius's."

Crimson eyes widened in fury. The man strode forward gracefully, narrowing their distance. "You will not leave this room," he hissed, warning etched deeply in his voice.

Harry cocked his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. He reached forward and grasp the handle of the door, turning it. "I'm afraid my word still stands though... Professor."


	9. Tarantallegra

**{A/N}** Title & chapter plot inspired by XIA Junsu's Tarantallegra. On other aspects, I've also created an AO3 and LiveJournal account in light of the recent purge. The links are up on my profile page.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

"Harry my boy, are you alright?"

Harry spun around, eyes narrowing at the sight of the intruder before he relaxed slightly, turning to face the grounds of Hogwarts. It was after curfew hours and he should have been in the common room instead of loitering around at the Astronomy Tower, but he highly doubted that Headmaster Dumbledore would sentence him to detention. The man had other things on his mind tonight, that much was apparent.

Striding forward, he watched with guarded eyes as Dumbledore joined him, leaning over the parapet with his hands clasped tightly together. The ancient wizard heaved a great breath as he stared faraway into the lake, looking melancholic.

"I remember the time when I lost my father," Dumbledore began in a somber tone and Harry raised an eyebrow. Was the man really going to start telling him his life stories? "He was a great man and a role model that I had always envisioned to be. It was to the extent that I often thought of him as infallible, never to commit mistakes nor leave me. I was wrong on both accounts, as I would later realize years later. The denial, the shock and the atrocity of it all was quite beyond my grasp," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "And even now, the terror and fear of it still haunts me. I cannot assume that you are facing the same conflicting emotions now Harry, but I do wish for you to know that help at Hogwarts will always be given to those that need it."

Dumbledore turned expectantly towards him, blue eyes sad.

"I see." Harry paused, before cocking his head to the side, wide eyes peering up at the wizened old man. "Do you always do that, Professor?" He asked coolly.

At Dumbledore's puzzled face, he supplied, "Corner the students. Consol them with the stories of your past." It was with satisfaction that he watched Dumbledore's face pale.

"Harry…" One of Dumbledore's hands reached out towards him, grasping him firmly by the shoulder. He stared deeply into the blue eyes, wondering what the man was thinking behind his mind shields. "I do know that I have made a great many assumptions and mistakes with you in the past. But I beseech you to realize that they are all for your own good, and I implore for you to not hold it against me. This is a difficult period of time that you are going through, and I want you to understand that the Professors of Hogwarts will always be open to you. Perhaps you could even talk to Professor Flitwick if you deign my presence."

Breaking away from Dumbledore's grasp, Harry said dryly, "I never thought I gave the impression of needing help or a listening ear. I am managing quite very well on my own, Headmaster. My grant for emancipation has just come through and I hold the seats to Wizengamort under the Potter and Black names now. If your definition of difficult time refers to the pressure of upholding these two family names, then I would agree with you."

"My boy… Be that as it may, it has been two weeks since the death of your godfather –" the callous way that Dumbledore brought up Sirius stung mildly, but he did not cringe. "And you have remained isolated from all your schoolmates. Your grades have not suffered, exemplarily as they always were, but there is a tense air surrounding you. Restrained, you may say, and many of your Professors have raised concern."

Had they really?

He hummed, turning away. "I just need a bit more time," he admitted grudgingly, trying to fend off Dumbledore. "But I do not need help and in fact, the final round of the Dueling Competition the day after is quite enough to take my mind of Sirius."_ And other issues._ "And if you are still worried about the state of my mental health, I assure you that the holidays following would give me sufficient breather to take my mind of things. Really, Headmaster," he faced Dumbledore now, snorting lightly. "I appreciate your concern, but it is for naught."

Dumbledore frowned at the mention of the coming holidays. "I don't suppose you would be taking up the Weasley's offer to stay with them?"

He smiled grimly. "It was kind of them to offer, as Sirius had mentioned weeks ago." His smile became a grimace. "But quite unnecessary."

"Is there any way I could persuade you to change your mind, my dear boy? Some form of company could do you good… a form of distraction, if you may. The Weasleys have plenty of children; Ronald is in the same year as you and there would be plenty to talk about between boys, such as Quidditch. How delightful! And Fred and George, the twins, though a handful, are quite boisterous. I have no doubt that their infectious laughter would influence you… Not to leave out their youngest; Ginevra Weasley also seems quite taken by you as well. I'm quite sure that some company would do you good; surely Sirius wouldn't –"

"Want me to be alone, cooped up in the Black Manors all holiday?" Harry finished, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes hardened. Accusing emerald green eyes glared up at him. "You know, Professor…" He could not help his tone of hostility. "You do seem to be sure of an awful lot. You were sure what my parents would have wanted me to do, and now you're sure of what Sirius would have hoped for me." Staring at the giant squid making puddles in the great lake, the corners of his lips lifted slightly, though he was still filled with a strange bitterness. "But… the truth is that you _don't_ know what they would have done, and I would ask for you to leave it as such."

"Harry-"

"And just so if it wasn't obvious enough," Harry continued conversationally, as if Dumbledore hadn't interrupted. "The Weasleys and I are not on good terms. Quidditch would have been a wonderful topic, except that Ronald and I do not get along and Quidditch does not appeal to me as it does to the rest of the school. It is a good sport, but hardly enough to span the entire holiday's conversation."

"What about the Ravenclaws?" Dumbledore suggested hopefully. "I've noticed that they are particularly concerned about your wellbeing–" Harry barely withheld a snort at this. He was surprised that between Quidditch and the other seventh-year girls, his dorm mates had noticed the darker shift in his mood. "The other day, Terry Boot expressed concern about your performance in class. You seemed disinclined to participate, even more than usual."

"If Boot is worried about my performance in the Dueling Competition, he can relax." At Dumbledore's displeased frown, he explained, "I can see where their concern comes from, Professor. The Ravenclaws and I have never been particularly close either."

Would Dumbledore try convincing him to stay with the Hufflepuffs next? The man was playing it a little too obviously, what with trying to persuade him to stay with the Light families. His intent was simple: to get him to forge closer relations with the wizards that he deemed harmless.

But those wizards weren't going to allow him to unravel the truth. Only Riddle was willing to help him… only Riddle could _possibly_ uncover a lead. Dumbledore was as influential and powerful, but without a doubt, he would not have approved of his plans to track down the responsible wizards. The older man would preach at him and would not want him to meddle in the affairs of the _Ministry_. Dumbledore needed someone that would listen to him and participate in the war with his every command; he did not need and could not afford for his people to be sidetracked and distracted by their petty affairs.

Unfortunately, the old wizard didn't seem fazed by his constant rejections. "I'm sure with a little more effort, you could get the Ravenclaws to open up with you. Several of them have expressed interest in becoming friends with you–" _Only because of my Outstandings in the essays._ "And some company would do you good."

"But I do have company, Professor," Harry said with a straight face, before he paused for a moment, in mock consideration. "I do talk to Draco, Blaise and the other Slytherins." He left out the fact whereby he wasn't entirely willing to… Dumbledore needn't know that.

"Harry-"

"Or are Slytherins inappropriate company?"

"My dear boy!" Dumbledore exclaimed, seemingly shocked at his bluntness. "I would never have assumed as such. I merely wished for you to open up to the other houses as well, in particularly the Ravenclaws. One of the visions of Hogwarts was to promote inter-house unity."

Harry sighed heavily, weary of Dumbledore and the conversation. The notion and idea of peace in the Astronomy Tower was completely and irrevocably destroyed within ten minutes of the Headmaster's presence. "I do appreciate your concern, Headmaster," he inclined his head slightly in grudging respect. "And I do thank you for withholding my detentions, but to advise and preach on the social affairs of a student seem to be over the line. Surely the school and Ministerial affairs would be more prudent for a wizard of your caliber?"

"I merely wish to offer what little assistance I can to a student at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said gravely. "We may have many misunderstandings in the past, but I do hope to clear that and start afresh. Help –"

"At Hogwarts will always be given to those who need it," Harry finished, slightly amused at the repetition though he remained coolly impassive on the outside. His gaze fell towards the steps leading away from the Astronomy Tower. "I will take you up on that offer, if I do need your help." At this, Dumbledore looked satisfied. "But as of now, I can only thank you for that gesture. Pardon my insolence, Headmaster, but I need to retire."

The Headmaster looked disappointed, but he seemed to concede that their little exchange was over. Nodding, he waved a frail-looking hand in permission for Harry him to leave for the Ravenclaw Tower.

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

He did not look back.

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><p>Breathing heavily, Harry pushed himself up straighter as he sat on his bed. Dawn had approached far too quickly, signaling the last day of the Dueling Competition. Things had been moving at tremendous speed and he felt disorientated and detached from it all. Had it really been months since the start of Hogwarts already? Before he knew it, the Competition was coming to a closure and the champions from the other schools would be arriving for the International Competition.<p>

He couldn't imagine the amount of _activity_ in the school then.

Shuddering, he quickly recalled the finalist for the Competition. Among them were Draco, Antony Goldstein, Sue Adams, Cassius Lont, Zacharias Smith and Daphne Greengrass. He would be up against Zacharias Smith for the first match before proceeding to duel his way up the list of participators and finally, if he got through them all, he would face his final opponent to conclude the duel. It was simple and a straightforward match, though it meant that he had to be alert constantly. There would be no newfound distractions to play to and any mistake could cause him the instantaneous loss. That was something he had no intend to allow, especially not when he had gotten so far in.

Besides, he needed all the distraction he could get, if only to take his mind of the impending issues. The Hogwarts curriculum was not sufficient enough to keep his mind busy, and his research had been shelved temporarily now that Riddle had stopped calling him for detention and the library was severely lacking in its resources. Why the lack of detentions though, Harry had no idea. Was the man avoiding him? Avoiding the questions? Granted, after he had calmed down, he understood where Riddle was coming from. That the man needed time to affirm and access the situation and the replies would be coming later. Yet the strange silence was slowly unnerving him. Spare the biting remarks in lessons, Riddle hadn't as much as paid him a second glance.

Not that he minded.

Scrunching his nose at the sight of one of his roommates stirring from his sleep, he dressed quickly and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The sight that met him was rather surprising for there were more students up and about than usual, with quite a few Slytherins and Ravenclaws already settled. He assumed that they were all excited about the upcoming match and had risen particularly early, even if it was on the weekend before the holidays.

Settling down at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, Harry picked up a toast and started to chew at it slowly, his mind wandering off as he glanced around at the other finalists in interest. All of them, he noted, were already present, with the exception of Zacharias Smith and Cassius Lont. Knowing Smith and his determination-driven personality, he was sure that the Hufflepuff was off in an empty classroom, practicing more spells and hexes.

He shrugged, looking forward to the duel, but not feeling particularly excited about it either. Although he was always in a constant state of ennui from young, it seemed that his apathetic mood had only increased these days, what with the lack of amusement in his life.

"Hey, Potter," a voice whispered from beside him. He turned to face a fourth-year Ravenclaw, who was surreptitiously pointing towards the direction of the Slytherins. "Malfoy has been staring at you. He seems to want something."

Glancing in the direction of Draco, he found the blond staring at him quite unabashedly. Yet the stare was not hostile as one would have assumed, but of curious interest and bubbling excitement. The instant their eyes met, Draco nodded curtly. No doubt he had been thinking about the upcoming duel. Would they be facing each other? The possibility was there if they both made it to the last pair fighting for the championship. He had a hunch that the Professors – Riddle especially – would face them off each other if it weren't for the final, _final_ pairing.

Trying to prevent a grimace from coming out in place of a smile, Harry turned back to the Ravenclaw that was now jabbering by his side, wishing him good luck. It seemed that the Ravenclaws had finally noticed his existence and was now banking their hopes of having their house becoming victor on him, instead of the other finalist Ravenclaws.

"Good luck Harry… Not that you would need it though," a gangly Ravenclaw guffawed at his own cold humor, leaning over the table and patting him on the shoulder with stupendous strength. He resisted the urge to lean away and maintained a polite smile, his thoughts once again drifting back to the deal he had with Riddle.

Unconsciously, his eyes had already hovered up the Professor's table where Riddle sat regally amongst them. Even though Riddle was talking amiably to the other Professors, he couldn't help but notice the way the man maintained his distance… both mentally and physically. There seemed to be an invisible barrier around him such that no one dared to intrude into his personal space. Come to think of it, Harry had never once seen another witch or wizard lay their hand on Riddle even in a friendly gesture.

Shaking his head to clear himself of the mindless drivel, Harry turned his attention back to the abandoned toast on his plate. It was then when Riddle stood up and Harry caught a flash in his eyes that signaled for him to follow the man out of the Great Hall. Eyes darting back and forth between his half-eaten toast and the man, he decided that his curiosity far outweighed his desire to finish his breakfast. Cautiously, he waited for the Professor to stride purposefully out into the general direction of the grounds before following behind, though maintaining a certain distance.

As the chatters from the students became softer and the distance between him and the Great Hall increased, Harry found himself becoming more at ease, his heart feeling lighter, calmer. He sped up to walk alongside Riddle instead of trailing behind him.

"What-" He stopped when Riddle halted suddenly, in a small alcove that was quite well hidden and usually devoid of people.

"Professor?"

Riddle frowned, his back turning away from him. "It has come to my attention that you have been growing increasingly restless these days," the man said slowly, as if testing the boundaries between them both. "Does that shift in mood by any chance, have something to do with the death of your godfather?"

Bloody Riddle was just about as crude as Dumbledore, if not worse.

"I haven't been growing restless," Harry said curtly. "But you do owe me some explanations."

"Really?" Riddle tisked skeptically, ignoring the second half of his sentence. Crimson eyes turned to face him, unnerving him slightly at the sheer intensity. "Then why is it that the Headmaster has been pandering about after you, looking increasingly worried?"

Merlin. The man even knew that Dumbledore had cornered him the other day at the Astronomy Tower. Did the walls have eyes and perhaps, ears as well? Given the number of portraits around Hogwarts, the possibility that one of them had informed Riddle of his whereabouts was rather likely.

But nevertheless…

"Dumbledore had been mistaken," he found himself saying, watching curiously as a bowtruckle started running across the grass and disappearing behind a large tree. His snort at the bowtruckle turned into a roguish grin as he snickered. "Why, is this concern I sense?"

Before he knew it, a hand had hit his head from behind at his cheek. Glowering angrily at the smug-looking Riddle, he brushed a hand through his hair, irritated.

"Concern for the honor of Hogwarts," Riddle quipped, making a show of dusting his hands. "I expect nothing but the best performance from you at the finals. Hogwarts needs, after all, the best player they have up on the fields against Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. It cannot settle for anything less."

"I never hinted otherwise." Glowing green eyes glowered at the man before turning and heading back to the castle. "But it's time don't you think? The final round is approaching and the Professors … they require your help in setting up the arena."

With that, he strode back to the castle quickly, leaving Riddle trailing behind him. He resisted the urge to turn back, knowing that the man was most likely smirking at his expense.

* * *

><p>Silence.<p>

He tensed, wand gripped tightly in his hand, his posture crouched down and ready to pounce at the given moment. Ten feet from him, Smith stood, mirroring him. Harry saw the grim determination in the Hufflepuff's eyes as well as the confidence that he was trying to exude… to intimidate him.

Eyes flickering to the huge clock above Smith's head, he noted that there was another five minutes to the end of the duel before they were both disqualified if none of them triumphed over the other. He had spent the first ten minutes dancing around with the boy, though looking back, it would not have been the best choice, given the subsequent matches that might follow.

Shrugging, he decided to try something different. Relaxing suddenly, he stood up and made a show of smoothing out his tensed muscles. Opposite, Zacharias watched him with guarded eyes at his lax position, clearly suspicious that something was up. Harry merely offered an innocent smile before proceeding to walk towards the Hufflepuff in slow steps, his wand twirling loosely in his hand.

"What are you playing at, Potter!" Smith spat, unnerved by Harry's… vulnerable position, yet he made no moves to curse him. Instead, his eyes darted between the self satisfied smirk and the wand held loosely in his right hand.

"I don't know…" Harry began lightly, still inching closer. His voice trailed off before he focused. "Maybe a little bit of this…" he shot a body-bind curse at Smith who immediately reflected the curse. "Or this…" The Hufflepuff jumped and rolled out of the way to avoid the hex, his yells echoing. Lying on the ground on one side, Smith gripped his wand tightly as he started firing curses of his own in his direction while trying to regain his standing.

Pity. He had been in full, unprotected view of Smith yet the boy had wasted a golden opportunity while trying to figure his intentions out.

Deflecting the curses easily, Harry closed the distance between them, even as Smith tried to slide backwards to put as much distance between them as possible. The string of hexes that were spat from his lips were futile, having all been absorbed by his shield.

"_Stupefy._"

The first round came to a close with a smattering applause from the audience who were cheering loudly for the victor. Granted, the match had not been particularly thrilling, exciting or filled with tension and suspense as some of the other matches, but many of the students were privately satisfied with the fall of the loud-mouth, obnoxious Zacharias Smith.

Bowing the customary bow once to Smith and then to the audience, Harry exited the arena, his heart feeling oddly satisfied at the sight of an angry Zacharias. Though, his mood plummeted when he was immediately swarmed with curious eyes that were glancing at him in interest. Ignoring them all, he made his way towards the finalists table, where the rest of the participants were seated well away from the population.

Drawing out a chair, he settled down comfortably, eyes watching the remaining students duel onstage. Admittedly, they were rather skilled, although a little on the unpolished side. Watching Greengrass and Lont duel, it was hard to tell who had the upper hand for Daphne had the speed while Lont had the wit.

Tearing his eyes away from the duel for a moment, he focused his attention on Draco who had been seated two seats away from him, only to find his chair empty. Curious, he craned his neck and scanned his eyes around the crowd, instinctively looking for any signs of the blond.

At the sight of Draco and Riddle huddled at the corner of the hall together, Harry's eyebrows twitched unpleasantly, but he fought to quell down his sudden evolving annoyance. Scrutinizing them both, he found them to be in the midst of an important discussion of sorts, with Draco looking immensely serious and poised. Well at least _he _wasn't the one hit at the back of his head… At the thought of it, he unconsciously glowered at Riddle, before straightening up, his irritation dissolving into curiosity at their discussion.

Perhaps they were discussing about Draco's next duel, he decided. After all, Draco had already dueled with his first opponent and won, which meant that he would be moving on.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the duo, Harry focused his attention back to the arena, just in time to watch as Greengrass was banished across the length of the arena to crumple into a heap. He shrugged as the crowd cheered for Lont, guessing that perhaps Lont's wit had overtaken Daphne's speed in the end.

There was an interlude following their duel which had been the last. The majority of the Hogwarts students were making the most of the time. Bets were taken, galleons were exchanged and the girls gossiped about the possible winners. Some had formed little groups amongst the Hogwarts houses and had taken to rehearsing cheers to support their housemates. Despite the differences, all of the students – even the first years – looked excited.

As Professor McGonagall beckoned the finalists over, they gathered around her to await for further instructions. Of those who had emerged victorious, Harry would be up against Lont next. If he won against Lont, he would stand a chance in the final, _final_ match for the championships.

It was a good thing that he had observed the boy duel with Daphne. Lont possessed the Slytherin cunningness, but he had a rather obvious weakness: he couldn't dodge properly, usually stumbling or tripping over his feet in his haste, thus he was usually seen using a shield charm instead. At least that was one weakness that Harry could make full use of, especially when it could prove to be the boy's downfall.

With the conclusion of Professor McGonagall's brief instructions, the interlude was over. Amidst the hustle and bustle all around, Harry was able to calm his heart enough for his duel with Lont, which happened to be the second one. This time round, he was eager to get the duel quickly over and done with in order to conserve his energy for the final round. And as expected, in barely less than four minutes, the duel had indeed come to an end.

It was simple and similar to the style that he had used in the second round of the duel. He targeted at Lont's weakness and never gave the boy a chance to rest. While the shield charm was rather effective, it could not hold up for long unless the caster had sufficient concentration and power, and that was the loophole Harry needed.

While deflecting Lont's curses left and right, he returned his own and repeatedly casted more obscure curses, trying to distract Lont and send him to a flurry of anxiety attacks. Admittedly, he boy was _good_ and did try to lay several traps for him despite his nervousness, but thankfully, he managed to avoid the most of them. It did seem that Lont was aware of his own weakness, however. He was always prepared and had a shield charm at his lips, ready to spring into action when needed.

Yet it was his own traps that had finally did him in and sacrificed his chance in winning. Feigning ignorance, Harry had played along with Lont, pretending to be tricked by the onslaught of curses while being cornered. Close to the win and noticing Harry's predicament at being cornered, Lont was arrogant, excited and oblivious to his surroundings, despite his usual careful self. He was too caught up with the sweet taste of victory that he had lost his cool.

Ironically, it was _Harry_ who won. Harry, who had been forced back to the very edge of the arena while Lont advanced, wand in his hands. But he had counted for Lont to inch closer and gloat at him, instead of ending the duel with a simple spell from a distance. It was so _typical. _This arrogance he had accounted for and it was with a simple wave of the wand and a non-verbal tripping spell that had Lont toppling over the arena, effectively ending the duel.

Now, sitting comfortably back at the finalist's stands, he was watching the final match between Lont and Draco. If Lont won, then he would move on to the finals, but if Draco triumphed, he would be facing Harry for the championship title. Judging by Draco's quick reflexes and superior spell casting, Harry didn't doubt that the Malfoy Heir would be the winner out of the two.

Indeed, he was proven correct when seven minutes into the duel, Lont was disarmed. Victorious, there was a look of smug satisfaction and bliss as Draco looked down at the defeater in disdain, before making his way out of the arena, shooting inconspicuous glances at Riddle. The Slytherins rushed to embrace their hero, with claps on Draco's back as he was enveloped with more well wishes for the final round.

It was almost strange in the contrast between the two final contesters. One was surrounded by a mob of students and looking coolly superior; the other was settled a small distance away from the crowd, quite comfortably alone.

"Mr. Potter." Harry glanced up to see Professor McGonagall standing beside him and he immediately stood up.

The stern witch appraised him carefully before she began. "Your final duel with Mr. Malfoy would begin in any moment, so please remain in your seat. While foul play and match fixing has always been part and parcel of competitions, I trust that you would not fall to that? The Headmaster has stressed that this is to be fair play."

He let a small smile grace his lips, aiming for a look of sincerity. "Of course, Professor," he said smoothly, inclining his head slightly.

Professor McGonagall looked slightly hesitant for a moment before she returned the small smile – a rarity that left Harry rather bemused. "Well then, Mr. Potter." She patted his shoulder a little, seeming to be reassuring him. "Good luck for your final performance."

With that, the Professor disappeared into the crowd, apparently to find Draco and brief him on the same set of instructions. Frowning, Harry played back his conversation with McGonagall. He had never been particularly close to the stern and upright witch, but the way she regarded him with those eyes today seemed almost… _motherly._ As though she was trying to fill in the gap that Sirius had left behind, to play on the role of a concerned guardian and reassure him.

Well, he didn't doubt that she had heard what had happened. And if Sirius's words were anything to go by, both his Professor and his godfather knew each other quite well from Hogwarts.

And the funeral…

It would be held during the break, right after the tournament. He wouldn't think about it, not now.

"Mr. Potter," a loud voice called from his left.

Up on the arena was Professor Sprout, waving her hand boisterously as she beckoned for him to go over. Draco was already standing on the far end of the arena, his wand held loosely in his left hand. Under the lighting, his complexion appeared utmost pale, but his expression was one of stoic indifference and if anything, sheer determination.

As his eyes met Draco's silver ones, they both nodded to each other, indicating fair play. Quickening his steps, he glided up the stairs and found his position at the right end of the arena and waited for the cue from the Professors to start.

Professor Riddle made his way on stage now, arms spread wide as he commanded attention from all of Hogwarts who immediately fell silent.

"The moment that you have all anticipated has arrived. The _very_ last match of Hogwart's Dueling Competition is about to begin," Riddle said, his voice magnified by the Soronus charm. "Our final contestants are Mr. Draco Malfoy from Slytherin –" he paused to allow the Slytherins to cheer. "And Mr. Harry Potter from Ravenclaw." There was a smattering of applause at this, but instead of loud chanting of his name, there were only quiet murmurings as the students fought for a better glance at this elusive and mysterious champion. "Now, I want it to be very clear that regardless of the results, there is to be _no_ dueling amongst yourselves. Anyone caught to be hexing a student from another house would be sentenced to detention with Filch."

Harry snorted quietly from the arena, watching as some of the students winced and quickly tucked their wands out of sight, as though that might allow them to regain some form of self-restrain. He knew that there was bound to be fighting with the results given the high tension in the air and the heated tempers of the students.

But no matter. It was not his problem to deal with.

"You may begin."

Wands held in the air, both Draco and he took two steps forward and bowed deeply to each other, though their eyes remained fixed on the other. Clearing all other thoughts out of his mind to concentrate fully, Harry turned, just as the final command was given.

He threw himself across the arena and barely managed to avoid a quick stunner from Draco who possessed immensely fast reflexes from Quidditch. Bounding to his feet, he launched across the arena on the immediate offensive, wand slashing across the air and casting hex after hex at Draco, who was frantically defending himself from the onslaught of flashing lights.

"_Stupefy_!" he cried, pointing straight at the blond, before mirroring his actions and doing the same once left and right. Draco, who had been preparing to dodge left, changed his mind in the last minute and hurled himself across the space of the arena, narrowly missing the three stunning curses. He was light and quick on his feet, however, to grab the opportunity by rolling over from the ground of the arena and fire off two curses of his own.

Impassively, Harry called up a shield charm and watched as both curses were deflected and dissolved within the perimeters of the safety charm surrounding the arena.

As he raised his wand, advancing on Draco with more curses that forced the blond backwards, something shifted in the air. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he watched as Draco stopped in mid track and seemed to be gathering all his _magic _before… disappearing.

Frowning, Harry reached out a hand to the empty space where the Malfoy Heir had just recently stood. Whatever that was concealing Draco was no disillusionment charm, he knew. The tenor of the charm Draco had used was largely different from that of the disillusionment charm, which Harry was familiar with, having used it multiple times in different occasions.

Yet Draco's charm was one that he hadn't yet came across and for the first time, he felt the slightest bit of worry seep through in face of the unfamiliar.

"_Finite_ _Incantatem_," he tried, but not expecting any results. He was proved right when the air remained as still as it was before, with no sign of Draco's reappearance.

He took another two steps forward, surveying the arena intently before closing his eyes and softly incanting a stronger shield charm to be wrapped around his frame. If Draco were to reappear behind him, at least he would be more comforted to know that he was protected against curses attacking him. The shield charm he used was strong enough to deflect most curses, and the ones that weren't included were lethal and not permitted to use in the duel. Regardless, that would at least give him reaction time before the protection charm collapsed under the combined power of Draco's spells.

Scanning through the Slytherin audiences for some form of a clue, he noted that they were all as bewildered as he was, puzzled faces peering up at him while loud murmurings echoed insistently in his ears. Behind the students, Riddle stood, crimson eyes staring intently at him as the Professor waited in anticipation for his next step. Harry licked his lips slightly at the intense gaze, before turning back to the arena.

It was then that Draco struck and Harry hadn't seen it coming.

No. Draco was _smart_. Smart enough to know and realize that Harry had constructed a shield charm around himself during his disappearance. Smart enough to understand that a surprise spell would most likely fail and not achieve its desired aim. But the shield charm… it had its limitations.

Horrorstruck, Harry watched as a great net embroiled with heavy magic descended upon him, effectively trapping him within its great folds. Ten feet away from the moving, twisting net stood Draco, his face lit up in positive excitement as he twirled his wand and controlled the netting to wrap around Harry, cutting off his freedom of space and movement.

Dodging a disarming spell, Harry moved quickly through the net, casting several cutting spells in order to destroy it. He felt, oddly, like a dolphin. A bloody _dolphin _trapped in nets.

But unlike a fisherman's net, his net was filled with magic; heavy, overbearing magic was suppressing him and slowing him down. While his limbs worked automatically to free himself, his mind was in an overdrive, pulling out a list of possible charms that could work against this net. Cutting curses were ineffective for the net was protected by its own magic. It was then that his eyes caught sight of a small rune attached to the ends of the net, sealed in a Malfoy crest.

Of course.

He halted suddenly, glowing eyes staring at the small rune, before he tipped his head back and laughed, earning a surprised glance from Draco who was still casting more offensive spells in his direction. Thankfully, his shield charm had held up and the spells that made into contact with it dissolved into nothingness. He re-enforced the shield charm as his mind considered his options given the _terrible_ circumstances.

Malfoy… Draco had come prepared. The net embossed with the runic symbol had been a carefully thought out plan. Runes were difficult to cast in a short space of time especially when the caster was distracted, but not entirely impossible to do during free time for a seventh-year student who took the class. What was worse was that it was even harder to deactivate, especially when one was not the owner of the rune.

Given the circumstances and the short time frame, Harry highly doubted that he could get past the warding in time to face Draco without the huge net trapping him. At least, he thought mournfully, that Draco hadn't thought about having the net wrap itself around him which would literally trap and cut off all his movement. Right now, all it was doing was serving as a great thread-like structure, magnified over a thousand times to trap him.

"You should give up."

Opening his eyes at the voice, he saw that Draco had moved forward, to be a few steps away from the net. Frowning, Harry allowed the boy to continue.

"The net is spelled with runic magic," Draco explained, grey eyes flickering over to the runic symbol. "It is not against the rules of the Dueling Competition, not at the current level and intensity of the rune. And while I have no doubt that you would be able to break free, it is with time, something that you lack."

Harry considered the words for a moment and appraised Draco carefully before a smirk graced his lips. He watched as the blond seemed to look hesitant, as if second-guessing his words, which confirmed his theory.

"You are not confident that your spell would hold up," Harry said clearly, calling Draco's bluff. "That is why you are calling for me to surrender, under the pretense of your confidence. While I must applaud you for that, I am afraid that the duel is very much on."

Shaking free of the great net that had draped itself onto his shoulders, he weaved past it, casting a couple more spells of higher tiers. Flashes of gold and purple streaked the air, a few cutting through the shield charms held up by Draco and caused significant wounds across the boy's torso.

But Harry wasn't without injury. Several times, he found himself stumbling over the net and became susceptible to danger. Even as a couple of cutting curses graced his forearms and left cheek, he refused to let it damper his mood. On the contrary, it seemed to fire up a rush of adrenaline within him, making him giddy with the force of it all.

Spinning through curses after curses flashing past him while holding up the nets above his head with one hand, he found that he was slowly gaining the upper hand on Draco. While he was trapped, it wasn't a great deal of bother to him. It did mean that he didn't have the space to dodge the spells as he would have liked, but the shield charms provided a rather feasible alternative – even if it did mean that certain spells sometimes got through.

He did, however, have a wider range of knowledge than Draco and better stamina and strategic planning, which slowly gave him the advantage he needed.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Draco cried.

Almost lazily, he deflected the curse and watched as Malfoy seemed to pant for air a little, looking slightly worn out. Having gotten too close in proximity to him, Harry watched as one of Draco's feet tripped over the nets in his exhaustion and a sudden idea sprang into his mind wickedly.

If Draco looked tired on his feet, then he would help the Slytherin regain his energy and spice things up a little.

Grinning in an almost sinister way, he murmured gleefully, "_Tarantallegra._" Bright neon orange emitted from his wand, rendering him blind for a split second before the handy spell found its way to the target. While Draco yelled from the blinding hex and covered his eyes, Harry moved his lips and quickly murmured yet another incantation to fuse with the first hex.

He watched in satisfaction as Draco immediately started dancing in a wild and uncontrollable way, all signs of weariness and exhaustion gone as he put up an entertaining performance for all to watch. The Hogwarts students who recognized this popular spell gasped immediately, some laughing at the predicament of the Malfoy Heir while others protested. But even as the audience watched Draco dance on, it became clear that something wasn't right. The spell wasn't fading as it should have and Draco looked increasing frustrated with his hands and feet moved against his will.

Eyes darting to Harry in his embarrassment, he shouted "_finite_" over and over, but the spell did not wear off.

Harry smirked wickedly, before deciding to relieve the blond of his embarrassment and provide him with some answers…and options.

"The spell is tied to the runes," he explained, breaking off suddenly as he took the time and watched the series of dances that Draco was now doing. Accusingly, Draco glared at him but Harry merely laughed, knowing that the blond would be fine later. "So unless you and I get rid of them…" he licked his dry lips, eyes trailing over to the rune.

Draco frowned, his lips twitching. With his feet flailing in the air, it made an odd combination with his serious expression before he finally spoke.

"No."

"No?" Harry arched an eyebrow, unfolding his arms. "Well then –" he waved his wand quickly, making a slashing movement. The curse struck Draco across the chest heavily and he was thrown back several feet, crashing onto the cemented floor of the arena. There was a loud groan and a collective gasp from the audience who were scrambling over one another for a better view.

As Draco rolled over the ground, groaning, Harry took full use of the opportunity and said clearly, "_Expelliarmus._"

A wand flew in his direction and he caught hold of it with his free hand. The instant Draco's wand touched his hand, there was a soft shimmer of lights as the nets upon him slowly lifted before fading into the air; it was the same instance in which Draco regained control of his limps.

Tossing the wand back to Draco since he wasn't the master any longer when the other had surrendered, he gave a short bow to the audience just as Riddle came on stage. The cheers from the audience were deafening and many were trying to get their voices and opinions heard. At the far end, there was scuffling between a couple of Gryffindors and Slytherins

Ignoring the loud cries, Riddle casted a quick spell which hauled Draco back to his feet. Turning pink in embarrassment, the Slytherin was ushered off the stage along with Harry, both of whom were looking determinedly away from the students.

As Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout hurried them over to the finalists' stands, goblets of water were thrust into his face, which he gulped down in seconds. Turning to look at Draco, he was not surprised to see the grim look of disappointment mar the boy's aristocratic features.

Plopping himself down to one of the chairs, Draco downed his goblet of water. "It was a good duel," he said after a while, breaking the silence between them.

Confused, Harry motioned for him to continue wordlessly.

"Exhilarating, I meant," Draco hastily corrected himself. "Much more..." his brows furrowed in concentration as he searched for a better word. "Intense, as compared to our previous duels." Then he suddenly broke into a grin and lightly punched Harry's shoulder. "Admit it – that you were taken by surprise by my rune."

Well at least Draco was back to his usual arrogant self which was much more welcomed than the whiny Draco he had known during the younger years of Hogwarts.

He arched a brow. "Surprised, yes, but more curious about your little disappearing trick," he clarified.

Draco pursed his lips, oblivious to the stares that they were garnering from the students by just sitting down and having a civilized discussion. "Oh, that." There was a slight pause. "Professor Riddle taught me that. It isn't a disillusionment charm because disillusionment charms only camouflages an object or person. The spell I used was an invisibility charm, which is a step higher."

Eyes flickering over to Riddle who was still standing atop the arena, he watched Draco carefully. "Professor Riddle taught you an invisibility charm?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah and it wasn't all that difficult really, with him as the teacher. The charm itself is uncommonly heard of and must be reapplied every quarter of an hour, but it's handy."

Harry nodded in understanding, leaning further back into his chair just as he heard his name being called loudly from the front.

"… and we will now welcome our winner up on stage. Mr. Harry Potter of Ravenclaw house has triumphed the Hogwarts Dueling Competition," Riddle was saying. Crimson eyes danced over to him as the man motioned him over to face the rest of the students.

"Go on," Draco said, smirking now despite the disappointment still evident in his eyes. "The winner is supposed to stand on the stage and have their picture taken for the prophet and all…"

"Draco –" Harry hissed, eyes narrowing at the blond who was gleeful at his obvious discomfort.

"And then the representatives of the Auror Department will probably speak to you later. I heard they are really _talkative_," he finished. "And arrogant."

"Would you like a repeat of the _Tarantallegra_?" Harry asked pleasantly and there was immediate silence from all over… for a moment.

"Mr. Harry Potter," Riddle barked from the stage impatiently.

Pushing himself out of his suddenly immensely comfortable chair, Harry prepared himself to face the hoard of curious faces.


	10. Keep Your Head Down

**{A/N}** Title credit to TVXQ. I know, it's been a terribly long time since my previous update, but no, I have not forgotten about this fiction (unlikely to happen, really). It's just been a difficult chapter to write in between school, hence the sluggish process.

& a**_ HUGE _**thanks goes out to all my readers — thanks for sticking with the story & it's erratic writing ;) Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

The sound of faint rustling reached his ears.

Irritated, Harry snapped his eyes open, all thoughts of remaining in bed forgotten now that he was wide awake. Though, on a second thought, it was way past the morning and he had better things to do than remain obstinately in bed, regardless of how tempting it seemed. Pushing himself into a sitting position on the bed, his attention immediately fell onto the intruder at the corner of his room.

"Well?" he drawled, covering his surprise at the silent entry.

Kreacher's ears were flattened at the sides of his face. Two large and dull grey eyes glared up at him – the feeling was mutual, Harry assured himself – before the elf fell into a series of disgruntled mutterings. Harry almost rolled his eyes until he realized that it was an _elf_ he was engaging in a glaring contest with, and he promptly decided against it.

"Kreacher," he started again, voice cutting through the breezy morning air sharply. "Is there a reason for your being in my room up in the morning?" The lingering thought of the elf coming to his room as he pleased left unpleasant shivers down his back and he quickly made a mental note to improve the wards he had around his bed room.

"Kreacher."

Although he could've commanded the elf to obey and answer him at once, Harry didn't quite fancy the idea of binding and compelling the elves against their wills for small matters. Despite what Sirius had always proclaimed and complained about Kreacher, elfish magic were extraordinarily different and he would rather not risk the chance – no matter how slight – of having rebelling elves on his hands.

"A letter has arrived for master, sir…" Kreacher answered now, his voice sounding the tiniest bit excited. Shuffling his feet, he moved forward to stand beside Harry's bed, a large, expensive looking envelope clutched amongst his hands reverently. Curious, Harry casted an offhand glance down at the seal of the envelope and found the Malfoy crest staring up at him.

He snorted, having discovered the reason for Kreacher's reverence to the letter. The Malfoys were notoriously dark purebloods after all, and on very close terms with Kreacher's favourite mistress, Sirius's mother.

Reaching his hand out, Harry's fingers closed around the edge of the letter. For a moment, Kreacher's grip on the letter tightened almost impeccably, as if a show of defiance, before the elf grumbled sullenly and the envelope slipped from his grasp.

Tucking the letter well out of sight, Harry fixed Kreacher with a stern glance.

"You may leave," he said to Kreacher, whose both eyes were still fixed greedily on his hands.

With another glare, the elf was gone, as silent as he had come.

Now alone in the room, Harry raised an eyebrow at the heavy-looking envelope, wondering whatever for Malfoy was contacting him. He should have probably been opening the envelope to see its contents, but he would much rather save that to later. Whatever was the reason for Draco's calling of him couldn't be good, he reasoned; no news was good news, and ergo he needed all his energy before facing that innocent-looking parchment.

Though, it had been four days since he had last seen Draco at Sirius's funeral. It was a quiet affair, one that he had no wish to blow out of proportion, as per Sirius's wishes from one of their sillier conversations back then. Simple and not overly elaborate… it was something that his godfather had wanted. The man's burial was at Godric's Hollow where the ancestors of the Potter family lay and not with the rest of his estranged Black family members over at Whesteria Court.

Harry did not know how Draco got wind of the news, but just as the funeral was coming to a close, the Malfoys had appeared: Draco, his father and mother. Narcissa Malfoy was somber and polite enough to him, paying her last greetings to her cousin before she made herself scarce, disappearing. Lucius on the other hand, he couldn't fathom why the elder Malfoy had turned up, having not been well acquainted with Sirius. Throughout the most of the funeral, he had been shooting Harry suspicious and calculative glances, leaving him slightly unsettled.

No good could come out from attracting the attention of Lucius Malfoy, Harry decided.

And Draco. Harry was sure that the boy had the best of the intentions, but he couldn't seem to find it within himself to reciprocate. Draco was subtle and sensitive to his emotions, all too aware of the tension in the air, but it only seemed to Harry that the differences between them both had been further highlighted in the funeral. The ever-present gap had increased ten-fold, especially when the Draco was picture-perfect with the senior Malfoys flanking his sides, like a strange aristocratic family.

Sighing, Harry shook his head to clear the last images of Sirius's funeral from his mind. He dressed quickly and simply, pulling on a black robe before making his way down the steps and into the dining room. He had left Draco's letter back at his bedroom, in the drawer underneath of his table, promising himself that he would get back to that later, but first he needed his breakfast…

Which – as he stood before the dining table – on a second thought, didn't seem that appetizing.

"What is that?" He wondered aloud, settling down into the stiff-backed chair and picking up a fork. He poked warily at the yellow goo wedged between two slices of toast. "Kreacher?" he raised his voice higher and the elf immediately came scuttling from the kitchen.

"What is this?" Harry gestured at the yellow between his toasts, slightly suspicious of the ingredients that Kreacher had used for his breakfast.

Kreacher mumbled something unintelligently.

"Eggs?" Harry echoed skeptically, poking at them when another thought came to him horrifyingly. "_What_ type of eggs, Kreacher?"

"Hippogriffs, sir…" the elf murmured almost gleefully.

Feeling slightly sick, Harry gave the toast a last distasteful glare before dismissing Kreacher with another wave of his hand.

Thoughts of breakfast completely forgotten, he waited till Kreacher was well out of his sight before vanishing the food. Staring blankly into the air as the minutes ticked by, he marveled at just how _silent_ the Blank Manor was. No laughter, no chattering, no buzzing… nothing, save for the steady ticks from the old clock hanging on the wall right opposite him. The atmosphere seemed to be especially dreary with the snooty portraits that hung on the various walls and now it only served to remind him of how he was the only wizard _alive _in the house.

It was a startling contrast to that of Hogwarts, where the castle had been positively thrumming with life.

At last, pushing himself out of his seat, Harry wandered back up to his bedroom now that the niggling curiosity of Draco's envelope had finally hit him.

Casting a locking charm at the door of his room, he pulled open the drawer and traced his hands over the exquisite paper before flipping it open to reveal Draco's elaborate, cursive handwriting. Frowning, he lay comfortably on the bed, holding the letter high up against the light and began reading through it.

The letter started out with the customary pureblood greetings which wished him for his great health and fortune that he skipped, eyes scrolling down to somewhere near the middle of the parchment. Once again, he noted that Draco had offered his condolences which he skimmed through, before he finally neared the end of the parchment and reached the main point of the letter.

"… _and I would appreciate it if you would show up."_

Raising an eyebrow, Harry mused, surveying the letter carefully before setting it aside. It seemed that the Malfoys were hosting another of their overly-dressy balls over the holidays and he was invited, having been granted Lord of the esteemed House Potter and Black. The ball was set to be a week from now, and to be held at the Malfoy Manor starting in the evenings.

"_Please send notice of your absence."_

The words glared up at him from the parchment. Typical of Malfoys to word it this way, though he acknowledged that probably almost everyone turned up to their balls when invited, and only those who did not saw fit to inform the hosts.

Shaking his head, Harry rolled over the bed and dug around the drawer for a spare bit of parchment. He finally pulled it out and though it was slightly yellowed at the edges, he supposed it would do. Not as expensive or in tiptop condition, but paper nonetheless. Dipping his quill into the pot of ink, Harry held it above the parchment, scratching down a line or two of greetings when he paused, leaning back.

There was no doubt that many of the high-end politicians would be attending Malfoy's ball. These were politicians that were from the British Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamort, the European Wizards Association and even from other international countries out of Europe. That was the extent of the influence of the Malfoys and this was a ball that supposedly connected the higher-classes of the wizarding community, much like it was with the muggles. While he wasn't interested in politics, preferring to dabble in magical theory and all, he now held the seats of the Black and Potter house, which automatically gave him his own share of influence and power. Whether he liked the politics was out of his choice now that he would have to participate in those court sessions.

And the Malfoy ball would give him a chance to familiarize himself with the political situation. Maybe… his thoughts trailed off, a wicked idea entering his mind. Maybe the Dark Lord would be attending the ball as well, disguised, seeing that there were so many esteemed witches and wizards attending this high-end event. He made no question about the existence of the Dark Lord; even if the Ministry of Magic was denying otherwise, the strange, periodic incidences reported in the Daily Prophet was clue enough. That, and the deepening frown that seemed to be etched into Dumbledore's wizened face as the days went by.

But attending the ball would also mean a chance for him to seek out potential suspects working for the Dark Lord. There was Riddle, the man had admitted as much – though there was something suspicious that Harry couldn't put his fingers on – but perhaps Draco was also entangled in the fray. The last anyone heard, the Malfoys did have dealings with various Dark Lords in the past. And while they were not followers of Grindlewald, they had met definitely and were acquaintances at the very least.

Now, the idea of the ball didn't seem so appalling. Changing his script midway, he decided to follow through with his reply and gave a positive affirmation of his presence at the ball.

He lay back on the bed, head resting on the pillow as he stared at the ceiling in a daze.

Well, there were always those albino peacocks to admire if things went disastrously wrong, Harry thought wryly to himself…

* * *

><p>Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry sighed heavily, looking down at the heavy robes hanging off his arms in distaste whilst the bloody tailor started poking around him, trying to take his measurements <em>again<em>. Why there couldn't be some sort of standardization, he wouldn't know.

"Now, if you would just allow me to, sir…"

Resisting the urge to snarl at the delighted assistant, Harry hissed, "Why, don't you?" before wrenching his hand away from hers. The woman glanced up at him with large, confused eyes before she brightened, the magical measuring tape within her left hand twirling around in a random fashion.

"Just another one," she said brightly, ignoring his protests as the measuring tapes set into actions, looping themselves over his arms and shoulders almost painfully. He glared at the offending tape as it set about to do its business, numbers automatically appearing in what appeared to be his sheet of paper.

"And there you go."

At last, the tapes were withdrawn, giving him space to breathe. Harry immediately took a large step back from the overly-eager assistant, retreating to the front of the shop where the manager greeted him professionally. There, he heard the best news of the day: the robes would be ready for collection in a couple of hours, which gave him the time to do whatever he wished around the Alleys.

Even as he settled the bill, he was chanting in his head the reasons for which he deigned to purchase a set of expensive robes. All for the Malfoy ball, he reminded himself once more. None of the robes he owned were passable for such a prestigious event – having previously preferred to immerse himself in the comfort of Hogwarts and the libraries at the Black Manor –, and he highly doubted if he would be granted an entrance – invite or not – otherwise.

Finally bidding goodbye to the manager, he was greeted with the fresh air of Diagon Alley. He watched the swarms of people mingle about the streets, cheerful smiles on their faces as they chattered, their arms with bags of merchandise. The little children were by their mother's sides, pointing excitedly at the array of products that lined the wizarding stores. Older children were looking down at Knockturn Alley wistfully, curiosity written all over their faces while their mothers barked at them to stay close.

Speaking of which…

He quickly set down a fast pace down the direction to Knockturn Alley. He had a couple of hours to kill now that the robes were being made, and there was nowhere in Diagon Alley that he needed to go, or more specifically, hadn't gone before. However, Knockturn Alley was something different. He had only been there once in his fifth year, and it had been a brief visit seeing that Sirius was on his back. Nevertheless, he had caught sight and found himself intrigued by the darker magic well hidden in that mysterious Alley.

There were many books, artifacts and even exotic _pets_ in the Alley; surely he would be sufficiently occupied during his time there.

Dodging two hideous witches, he strode purposefully down the walkway, looking as though he was headed to a specific destination. Given the grim air surrounding Knockturn alley, people didn't just walk in there for window shopping like they did in other Alleys; the tight security checks from the Ministry of Magic was enough to scrape those plans sufficiently.

As Harry rounded off the corner, his eyes caught sight of a small shop well hidden by its neighbor's towering structure. The shop looked to be incredibly old with an antique feel, seeing that it appeared as though it barely managed to keep itself upright. The signboard was horribly crooked and chipped at the edges, the dim light from behind the glass panes casting a faint, eerie glow. Despite the shop's unpleasant exterior, Harry felt an odd pull and it was with apprehension and trepidation that he found himself cautiously pulling open the oak door.

As expected, the shop was dingy and dim on the inside, but thankfully more spacious than it had appeared. But that wasn't what made his heart skip – lining against the walls and in crooked columns were rows after rows of _books. _The books were of various sizes and states of condition; all were stacked haphazardly on the shelves, painfully waiting to be read.

A quick glance around the shop told Harry that it was empty, though there was a slight shuffling from the back, where he assumed that it was where the shop owner was currently. Pleased with the silence and solitude, he started browsing around the books, slightly surprised at its wide variety.

There were books of various forms of magic – dark magic, light magic, elfish magic, vampiric magic, faerie magic and even stories of the merfolk. Some of the books didn't look to be any of the old international languages either; Harry had already come across two books with squiggly writings that moved. Frustrated by his lack of knowledge on the languages of magical creatures, he had moved on, glowing emerald eyes seeking the next book eagerly.

Towards the left end of the shop, he found a small bookshelf dedicated to notorious wizards and witches of the past, which mercifully, was sorted by the century. Towards the bottom of the shelf were six books on Grindelwald's reign, each book looking thicker than the previous one. Reaching out, he flipped open one of them and was curious to note that it was quite different from the version at Hogwart's. For one, there was much more detail, including the squeamish bits. For another, the book gave a two-sided view, including Grindelwald's ideals instead of merely focusing on the war casualties.

Twirling the book around his hand, Harry mused, debating if he should purchase the book; he quickly decided against it, remembering that there were plenty of books on Grindelwald collected by Walburga back at the Black Manor. As he placed the book back on the shelf, his hand knocked against another, causing it to topple over with a small thud. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he found himself reaching downwards to pick the book up.

His eyes widened slightly at the cover of the book.

Merlin, it was a book on _Merlin._ Merlin, who was perhaps one of the greatest ancient wizards, having created so _much_ magic and discovered even more. Merlin, who happened to be his current wizard of fixation ever since he was introduced to him by Riddle.

His inner self rejoiced, eager fingers flipping the book open, eyes hungrily scanning through the contents page before he started reading somewhere from the middle. Its contents were slightly similar to the book that Riddle had previously lent him, but it had branched off on certain more controversial forms of magic that the other book had glossed over.

Standing beside the shelf, he was deeply immersed in the contents of the book for several minutes before loud shuffling resounded from his far right. Eyebrows crinkling in slight annoyance, Harry closed the book shut with a snap and turned to face the offender, who was none other than the owner.

The short and stout man was in his late fifties – or at least he appeared to be – and he was giving him a strange, wary look.

"Wha yer doin' here, lad?" he said in a gruff tone, shuffling forward as he wrung his hands on a dirty cloth atop the counter. Small, silt-like eyes were observing him carefully.

Motioning to the book in his hands, Harry moved forward, taking a couple of large strides towards the owner of the little shop. Sliding the book across the counter, he raised his eyes, before smoothly asking for the price.

The man wrinkled in his nose, one hand reaching over his head to smooth his hair before eyeing him. "Yer ain't nothin' on me, lad. Wha are yer doin' here?" he barked, before he snorted derisively, jerking a finger towards the window. "Yer should be outtahere, playin' Qudditch."

"The price of the book," Harry repeated, taking out his bag of galleons.

The owner stared at him for a long time, his previous rambling cut short as he appeared to be deciding if he was worthy enough to purchase a book from his store. Greed seemed to win eventually for the eyes narrowed and he spoke quickly.

"Fif'een galleons," he said in a low rumble.

Harry counted the galleons and slid them across the counter, where the owner inspected them carefully. After a short while, he nodded briskly, before waving a hand and signaling for him to leave the shop at once.

Sneering, he turned and strode purposefully towards the door when it was pushed open from the outside, a soft tinkling of bells sounding from above. He had no time to react for the occupant stepped in, lazy eyes immediately alert as they fell upon him.

"Harry!" Lord Denr exclaimed, surprise evident on his face, just as the owner moved forward to put a gnarled hand onto Lord Denr's shoulder in welcome.

"M'dear, dear boy," he grinned. "Wha' bring yer here aft'r sucha long time?"

"Rodrick," Lord Denr greeted amicably, attention to the owner. "Here to pick up a couple of books, and then I'll be off," he answered good-naturedly, his blue eyes benign. "Got a couple of errands to run later." His gaze fell onto Harry. "I see you've met Mr. Potter here?"

Slit-eyes rounded on him in distaste. "Aye," Rodrick mumbled. "Nothin' important, that lad."

"Nonsense," Lord Denr proclaimed, before _his_ hand landed on _Harry's _shoulder, immediately cutting off his escape route. "In fact, Harry and I have got a little catching up to do. You don't mind, do you?"

Still slightly disorientated by this bizarre encounter, Harry found himself curious as to Lord Denr's obvious acquaintance with the dingy shop owner in Knockturn Alley. That man was a marvelous friend of Dumbledore's after all; with his sea-blue robes and innocent blue eyes, he looked out of place in such a dim setting.

Curiosity won and he nodded in response, watching in slight impatience as Lord Denr and the owner haggled over the prices. In a short while, they swept out of the store. Harry breathed deeply as a wave of fresh air washed over him, a startling change from the musky scent of the bookshop.

"You don't mind if we retreat to Diagon Alley, do you?" Lord Denr asked, a brief glance in his direction.

Harry shrugged and stepped forward, leading the way to Diagon Alley. Although slightly amused by his lead, Denr followed, before striding forward to be walking aside him. He did not make an attempt at small talk, for which Harry was grateful of. One thing that irked him the most were the constant attempts of various witches and wizards trying to strike a conversation with him as though it would dissipate the awkward silence… For his part, he was comfortable with the silence, if not slightly amused by his partner's fidgetiness.

Climbing up the steps leading to Diagon Alley, he was greeted with the hustle and bustle – the life – of the wizarding population. Before Denr could suggest any place for their little _catching up_, he turned left, heading off to an obscure café.

Sliding into one of the booths, Harry cocked his head to the side, a wicked grin blossoming on his face as his mind raced through his questions. Judging from the look at Denr's face, he wagered that the man was equally as puzzled at his appearance in Knockturn Alley.

"Shall we?"

* * *

><p>"Harry?" an incredulous voice sounded from behind him.<p>

Turning, Harry allowed his eyes to fall on the familiar blond who was hovering near the stairs of the _grand_ Malfoy Manor. Draco stood there, a wine glass clasped in his left hand while he slowly unfolded himself from the gaggle of wizards Harry recognized from Hogwarts. As Draco made his way over, Harry spied a few other pureblood witches that were watching the Malfoy Heir surreptitiously from the corner of their eyes.

"Draco," Harry greeted, attempting a half smile as Draco neared him. His robes shifted uncomfortably as he moved and it was causing him quite a bit of irritation.

Draco's eyes were alight with excitement as he waved his right arm around in a regal gesture. "I didn't expect you to be here," he said, unceremoniously tossing his glass over to one of the passing house elves and pulling at his arm, leading him to some place more private.

"Perhaps, but I had been _so_ sure that I had replied your letter," he replied, following Draco as they rounded the corner of the Malfoy ballroom and out into the corridors. Behind them, the wide oak doors swung shut softly, the soft dancing music fading along with the chatters.

Draco laughed, before swinging an arm over his back in a casual manner. "I know," he beamed, his words slightly slurred and his posture somewhat lax now that they were hidden under a small alcove, free from curious eyes. "I just didn't think you would really come. You know, you're exactly like _him._ Never appearing."

"Him?"

Another laugh. "Yeah," Draco said blissfully, closing his eyes, seemingly lost in his own world of thoughts. There was a long pause as Harry stared off at the large Malfoy garden that seemed to stretch on forever. Neither of them spoke for a while, until a loud giggle broke the silence from somewhere above.

"Like him," Draco repeated before he shook his head slightly, strands of platinum blond hair falling past his eyes. He seemed to regain his senses after this, for he made an attempt at playing the perfect host.

"So… how was your holidays? Must have been dreadfully boring for you to appear at the likes of these occasions," Draco said now, gesturing towards the direction of the ballroom. "Never did peg you down as one of those socialites," his tone was light and teasing.

"Clearly," Harry said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "But no, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed because some form of socializing has to be in order. I'm delaying it as much as I can –"

"By gracing me with your presence –"

"But I'll have to make my way back inside in a little while more to greet those charming Ministers… oh the Canadians. The last I heard, they were on odd ends with the British Ministers, what with the mess that the bumbling fool Fudge created."

"Not anymore, but along with the Canadians are some of the other Ministers as well. Father thinks that it'll do me good to be inside with those _old_ men and discuss the intricate details of European politics, but I'd beg to differ. Besides, Daphne's the lucky one, off in Sweden for another of her shopping trips."

Harry stared incredulously at Draco who quickly caught on and backed up his hands defensively. "I meant lucky that she isn't stuck here with all those pompous Ministers. How could I have implied it a joy to be shopping around for hours at the famous Diamorre Alley? But…" Draco shifted slightly, his hand clasped together as he pondered, a faraway expression crossing his face. "Enough of me. What has it been like on your end? After you know… the funeral."

"Perfectly fine and dreadfully dull," Harry said, a little quickly and Draco raised his eye brows carefully.

"Well," Draco said, and there was a second's pause. "That's not what I heard," he continued loftily. At Harry's puzzled look, he grinned. "The other day at Diagon Alley? You were there with Lord Denr, weren't you? Blaise thought he had seen you with him right at the back of the café and he would have very nearly missed the both of you if not for the pure chance of luck."

Harry laughed lightly, tilting his head back. "Why, I suppose you could say that we were having a little get-together of sorts." His laughter subsided as he fixed Draco with a piercing glance, glowing green eyes becoming thoughtful. "Nothing like you would imagine, Lord Denr."

"Underneath the whole Dumbledore's good aide there's actually another personality?" Draco hummed skeptically as he twirled his wand between his fingers. "Couldn't imagine anything past his enchanting stories of being homeschooled…"

"You jest." Harry mocked, sighing as he took his eyes off the grounds and turned away, to lean back on the railings. "But… the man isn't _quite_ Dumbledore's; he's nothing like what you would have imagined. Far too rebellious."

"That must have been obvious, coming from a man who skipped his Hogwart's schooling because of his mother's say so," Draco bit out, huffing slightly.

Harry eyed him with new interest, eyes raking his form as though seeing him in a new light. "Got quite the tongue now, haven't you?"

Draco grinned, his eyes lighting up as he rubbed his hands in an almost-gleeful manner, the previous stoic posture seeming to dissolve quickly now that they were in private. "You have no idea," he shrugged, examining his nails like the conceited pureblood he was once more. "Gave father quite the scare when I showed him up the other day."

"Lucius would have been proud," Harry said lightly, thinking about the elder Malfoy with a sharp tongue that rivaled any politician's.

"You wouldn't imagine," Draco agreed. "Past the shock and anger – during which I was almost certain I was going to be hauled back to those etiquette classes – he changed his bloody mind and decided that it was fine time that I discovered my _inner _Malfoy."

"How dreadfully exciting, self discovery that is," Harry said dryly.

"Why, you little –" Draco mocked glared before he wrinkled his nose slightly and small chuckle escaped his sculptured lips.

Harry looked at the blond, a faint trace of smile playing at the edges of his lips. It felt different… wonderful even, standing away from the ballroom and feeling the breeze on his hair whilst he talked about anything. It was nothing too heavy like the politics and just plain _conversation._ Strangely enough, he found that he didn't mind it – for now, in small doses, at least –; it was nothing like the torture that it was with others. He could actually relax, and for once, his thoughts ran free from their restricting boundaries.

More minutes ticked by; Harry remained at the little alcove, his mind enjoying its breather, when Draco spoke heavily, a hint of regret tinting his words.

"You know…" the blond began, shifting, as he broke the peaceful silence. "We should probably head back in." There was a pause and then a sigh. "Father would have noticed my absence and well, the old geezers are waiting for you."

"And I thank you humbly for reminding me."

Draco arched his eyebrows in an arrogant manner before he stretched, heading back to the direction of the ballroom. With a last lingering glance at the little alcove that had been his sanctuary for the past few minutes, Harry pushed himself up and off the railings, making to follow the Malfoy heir. As they neared the ballroom, trickles of laughter and music seeped through the corridors, reminding them of what lay behind those depressing twin doors.

Chancing a last glance at Harry, Draco waved his wand, the door swinging open and they were instantly blinded by the sea of _gold_ that was the lavish ballroom. Nothing had changed from his brief visit previously; the bright lightings were all over, with golden and silver cutlery aligning the sides of the rooms along with exotic-looking foreign food. By now, the crowd had largely broken up into little groups that were standing closely together, absorbed in their own conversations. Though, there were still a small number of people in the middle of the room, dancing along with the music. Harry caught the eye of one young wild, dancing pureblood heiress who grinned seductively at him; he cringed internally, before turning away to see an old man clasp Draco's hand in evident worry.

"Young master Malfoy!" the man exclaimed, one hand over his heart in a rather dramatic gesture. "I had been looking for you for _ages_, but never mind that now. Your father has requested your presence since ten minutes ago, and oh, it's dreadfully urgent. He's waiting for you up in his study now."

Draco shared an uncertain glance with Harry, ignoring the anxious butler. "Father's looking for me?" he murmured, sounding a tiny bit nervous. "He's never asked for me before–"

"–Because you've never escaped his eye," the butler finished irately, his impatience winning out.

Cold, mercury eyes snapped towards the impudent man and said butler cowered sufficiently, apologizing for his manner.

"Well, I suppose I would better head to father's study to see what he requires from my presence." He nodded to Harry, jerking a thumb over to the refreshments table. "Maybe you could help yourself…"

Harry snorted at Draco's suggestion; evidently, the blond had thought of him as socially handicap, stiff and awkward enough to rival Severus Snape. But while Harry didn't enjoy the company of _most_ people in the least, it didn't equate to that he was shy or nervous… or awkward. A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "You go on," he motioned towards the butler dancing on his toes behind them both.

With that, the relieved butler quickly led Draco away from the crowd, disappearing behind a cluster of foreign-looking potted plants. Harry observed the crowd of witches in their extravagant gowns parting like the red sea in favor of looking at the Malfoy heir, while Draco was doing a poor job at masking his irritation at being called away so suddenly.

Chuckling lightly, Harry turned away, to see a slightly stooped man peering up at him. Gold-framed glasses rested on the bridge of the man's nose and narrowed grey eyes were staring at him in a haughty manner. Instinctively, he took a step backwards, a little ruffled at his personal space being invaded.

He recognized the man to be the heir of a rich pureblood family recently moved to France a second later.

"Evening," Harry said in disdain, feeling slightly amused by the way the man was staring at him – in an attempt to intimidate him, he surmised. Not that the attempt was working well, judging by the way Harry towered over the incredibly short man.

"Who are you," the man asked, not rudely, but bluntly. Dull eyes squinted in his direction, before taking in his smooth, expensive robes. "Never seen you around and Lord knows I have been here for ages…" he slurred towards the end.

The waft of alcohol coming from the man's breath was more than enough to put Harry off.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Offering a wan smile, he pushed past the dazed man to disappear quickly into the crowd which closed behind him. From behind, he heard the sound of collision as the man, when attempting to follow him, had knocked into one of the waiters who were carrying a tray full of Ogden's whisky.

Bored already, and slightly disconcerted with the disastrous first attempt at conversation with a drunken heir, Harry quietly observed the way that witches and wizards mingled. There was a lot of pretentious titters, excessive hand gesturing and falsified smiles amongst the witches; the men were looking more serious, each with a mask of sheer indifference and poise as they traded the latest politics and statuses of their fortune. Dreading the moment when he would have to be up there amongst the throng of people, he savored the current peace around him, just as a gaggle of pureblood witches made their way across him, their loud voices trailing in the air behind them.

"_Oh, _but that's highly untrue. The British Ministry's never been better, Lucrieta." The tall statuesque blond –evidently, the leader of the group – snapped in irritation to the petite dark-haired girl standing beside her. With an exaggerated wave of her manicured fingers, she continued haughtily, "Whilst I don't know what's going on in _your_ Ministry, daddy has quite very well assured me that the Department of Mysteries is merely up to their latest … gigs, you know. Those no-good rumours would subside soon enough, and we'll see." She shrugged in full confidence, before giggling girlishly, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. "But that's not up to us to discuss. You know what these ballroom parties are for… I heard that Draco Malfoy's just went over that way…and they say that the Hogwart's dueling champion is here tonight, though I have never seen him before…"

"Harry Potter?"

Spinning around, Harry's eyes fell upon a middle-aged man standing a little distance away from him, a wineglass clasped tightly in his hands. When their eyes met, the wizard's face immediately lit up in joy as he murmured a quick word to his companions before striding over to where Harry stood.

"Harry, Harry Potter?" the man repeated, eyes staring at his face intently as he beamed. Large, callous hands reached out to grasp his limp ones as the man introduced himself. "Mercutio McKinnon here, and very pleased to meet you. Why, the last time I saw you was when you were a mere _baby_, boy."

Seeing Harry's puzzled look, McKinnon explained generously with a wave of his hand, "I was friends with your father from Hogwarts and later, co-workers in the Ministry of Magic. Lily was one of my great friends too, even though I was in Ravenclaw and your parents in Gryffindor." His eyes stared over his head, faraway. "She had quite the Gryffindor spirit, what with all her optimism and wit." He chuckled, then paused to scrutinize Harry before announcing suddenly, "You have her eyes. That's how I recognized you at first… you can imagine how I felt, seeing the heir to the Potter family after so many years."

"Someone has to make an appearance, don't they?"

A rich laughter from McKinnon. "You're quite right, Harry. And make appearances you have; why, I remember seeing in the _Prophet _your recent victory in Hogwart's Dueling Competition. Great job you did there, your parents would be mighty proud of you, but I suppose you'll need all the luck you can get when you face those lads from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang." McKinnon stopped to sip from his wineglass, before continuing. "But I suppose this is your first ball alone?"

At Harry's stiff nod, McKinnon grasped him by the elbow and steered him over to the crowd that he had been mingling with earlier.

"All good company," he winked at Harry's appalled expression. In a whisper, he continued, "You would be surprised by the number of people who suddenly remembered about the Potters with your publicized victory at Hogwarts. Many of them have been waiting for your presence, eager to catch a glimpse of how you have turned out after so long."

Smiling, McKinnon came to a halt in front of the crowd of curious witches and wizards as he patiently introduced Harry to them.

Introductions were quickly exchanged, with a few lingering eyes on Harry in approval – no doubt remembering about the Dueling Competition –, before the crowd went back to their topic of conversation. They were discussing about the politics between the British Ministry and the Egyptians with a fair bit of agitation as the conversation carried on. One witch in particular –French, from her accent – was quite assertive in her opinions. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had been in bit of disagreement with the Egyptian inventors down in the South, causing much mayhem in the department she worked in.

After several more minutes, the crowd started to look bored in discussing the latest astronomy discoveries of the Egyptian wizards and broke off in twos and threes, before merging with other crowds. McKinnon had long disappeared under the pretext of getting more firewhisky, leaving Harry quite alone with the French witch.

"Mr. Potter," the witch greeted cordially, turning her attention on him now that he was the only one left in the group. "Quite a charming young man, I see." She leaned in closer and Harry inhaled a faint whiff of her sweet perfume. "Now, what are your views about the British policies regarding the work on the Egyptians?"

Harry stared at her, slightly disbelievingly that she was still harping on the issue. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of McKinnon mingling with another couple of wizards; upon meeting his eye contact, the elderly wizard merely shrugged and offered a helpless smile, as though in support of him.

Harry gritted his teeth and faced the French witch, musing in his head on how best to divert his attention. Before he could decide on how best to shatter her wineglass non-verbally, he was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind.

"Harry," Draco said urgently, one hand on his arm, pulling him away. All too willingly, Harry complied, allowing his feet to lead him in Draco's direction, ignoring the indignant splutters of the witch from behind.

As they rounded off the corner, Draco continued in a whisper, "I know that you're not yet ready and I understand that you don't have any idea of what's going on, but please, I implore for you to keep your calm later on when you're facing him. It's hard enough to tell you what's going on – even I myself have yet to wrap my mind around this – but he has called for you and I'm instructed to –"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, staring at Draco straight in the eye. "Start from the beginning, _slowly._" He glanced at his surroundings and found himself to be back at the corridors leading away from the ballroom, only this time, they seemed to be heading to a fixed destination. "Where are you leading me to?"

"Father's study," Draco said dismissively, a hand reaching out to push the strands of blonde hair out of his face. "He's expecting you there, _immediately_."

They started walking at a brisk pace again, when a question struck him. "_Lucius_ is expecting me?" Harry asked, disbelievingly. As far as he had remembered, he had no… dealings with the elder Malfoy. Not yet, in the very least.

A look of surprise crossed Draco's face and he slowed momentarily. "What?" he said, distracted. "No, of course not. _Father_," Draco emphasized, "is not expecting you. You're heading to his study, but…"

"Someone else is waiting for me?" Harry finished, wary now, stubbornly refusing to move.

Draco sighed heavily, irritated grey eyes on him. "Look, I know you're confused but I can't say anything. I don't know what to say… and I don't…" At Harry's skeptical look, he deflated slightly, before raising both his arms in mock defeat. "Fine," he said, eyeing Harry grumpily. "You… you _do_ know of the impending war between the British Ministry of Magic and the Dark Lord, don't you?"

Harry stared incredulously at him. "While whoever is masterminding this is playing a clever game by controlling the situation from behind the scenes, it doesn't take a genius to figure out."

"Good, at least you've got some clue on this mess…" Draco muttered. "Well, this Dark Lord… he is kind of, I mean, he is on close terms with my family."

"Why, isn't that obvious?" Harry snapped.

Draco glared at him. "Yes, but this only happened because there was a sudden change of plans and it wasn't supposed to be this way initially but –"

"Quit rambling Draco, and tell me the main point," Harry snapped at the unusually jumpy blond who looked appropriately abashed at once.

Draco took a deep breath, eyes staring fixatedly at the portraits decorating the wall. "He's here."

"He's what?" Harry echoed.

"The Dark Lord is here. At the celebration."

Harry's footsteps slowed to another stop. Turning, his eyes surveyed Draco's tense posture as he said carefully, "And this affects me how so?"

Frustrated eyes turned towards him and he could clearly see the pressure and fear within them. Draco exhaled loudly; angrily. "I do not know," he snapped furiously at his own lack of knowledge. "I never…" he trailed off and bit his lip, drawing blood as he shook his head. "The Dark Lord was not supposed to be at the ball, but his plans were changed the last minute. He was the one who sent for me just previously and he has requested for your presence."

"But…" Harry began, lost for words momentarily. His mind was racing as it speedily took in all the information, processing and piecing them together, analyzing them, then trying to make sense of all of Draco's words to tie the loose ends together. Flashes of memories from the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore's offer to join the Order of the Phoenix and his talk with Draco about the impending war raged mercilessly within his mind… The Dark Lord was something Harry knew about; he knew of the Dark Lord's interest in him through the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore and Draco once more, but he never expected it to come as early as it had…

The Dark Lord was waiting for _him_ in Lucius's study, _now. _

The words struck him heavily and for the first time in years, Harry swallowed, feeling a trickle of fear and excitement washing through him –

Before it disappeared almost immediately. His thudding heart slowed to a tranquil pace as he revised his options and considered the situation. Perhaps… perhaps this was the change, the turning point that he had been waiting for, he mused. He did not know, could not tell if this was a change for the better or for the worse, but change nonetheless. Change, in his life that had steadily became duller as the days went by. With a Dark Lord in play in his life, things _would_ change. He would have to step up in his game if he wanted to retain his own sense of control, something he prided himself in.

Even amidst his curiosity and excitement, he felt a vehement resolve to remain true to himself. Dark Lord or not, it was _his_ life to control.

"He's waiting for me, why?" he wondered aloud and Draco shot him another frustrated glare, pointedly reminding him of his own apparent lack of knowledge.

More possibilities ran through Harry's head… the Dark Lord had picked this time for a reason. Was it for him to swear his allegiance? After the conclusion of the Hogwart's Dueling Competition, it was not surprising for the Dark Lord's attention to fall on him once more – if it was even averted at all –, given the hype he had garnered all over the media within the wizarding community.

Slightly dazed and wrapped up in his own thoughts and a one-sided conversation in his mind, Harry followed Draco, his feet moving automatically after the blond. They walked in silence, neither of them speaking, but the silence was comfortable, save for the high tension within themselves that only grew as they approached the feared, mysterious man. As they rounded off to the East Wing of the manor where the Malfoy family resided, Harry found himself gaining curiosity as to the identity of the Dark Lord. Surely the man wouldn't be using glamour charms and the likes? From what he had read about Grindelwald, the man was as frank as Dark Lords came, once they actively sought for the support of an individual.

The meeting would be frank and brutally transparent. Cruel, even…

All the nerves in Harry were tingling in anticipation…

The ominous silence grew and Draco's footsteps slowed with each step that brought them closer to Lucius's study. Despite him being the one who would meet the Dark Lord, Draco seemed almost as nervous; his complexion was pale, although he hid his the most of his emotions behind the stoic mask that all Malfoys seemed to be born with.

Abruptly, Draco halted in his step. Harry stopped next to him, wary eyes tracing the oak door at the end of the hallway. Even from here, he could sense, could feel _darkness_… a wave of power and magic. It was like a cloud of heavily oppressing air surrounding him, threatening to envelop him if he were not sharp enough.

"I…" Draco began, his voice low. He jerked a thumb over to the innocent-looking door, his voice dropping into a whisper. "He's in there."

Eyeing the blond once last time, Harry gave a curt nod in return, clearing his mind off all the overwhelming emotions and forcing himself to remain alert. He moved automatically towards the door, even as Draco headed the opposite direction. Long fingers brushed upon the cool metal of the door knob, pausing slightly. Feeling slightly juvenile, Harry raised his hand and knocked the door sharply, before receiving an answering knock.

This was it.

Fingers clenching around the handle, he clasped it tightly, opening the door in a full swing. The sudden blare of light that greeted him was enough to blind his vision momentarily, leaving him blinking foolishly as his vision slowly adjusted and the small, careless details of the room were immediately absorbed by his overactive mind. The room was expectedly large and grad, with expensive shelves lining the walls, countless precious books sitting atop them. At the far end of the room was Lucius's writing desk, no doubt, but it was the figure behind the desk that struck the chords of apprehension deep within Harry.

The Dark Lord's back was turned to him, but there was a sense, a touch of familiarity he couldn't place his fingers on… He _knew_ the man… But who? Harry felt his fingers clench in frustration. So near, yet so far.

He had not taken more than three steps into the room when the door swung shut behind him with a click of finality, its ominous sound reverberating through the room.

There was a chuckle as the Dark Lord shifted, before turning; amused eyes met Harry's, a small smirk playing at the edges of the man's lips.

"Evening, Harry," the Dark Lord purred.

All traces of dignity forgotten, Harry gasped. "You–!"

Facing him was none other than Tom Riddle, his bloody _Professor. _


End file.
